Adrasteius Bloodspeaker hasn’t fought a war in decades. He hasn’t lashed out with his magic for almost a century. He has remained true to his principles; to his pacifism. As far as he’s concerned, Adrasteius would rather die than strike back in violence. He would rather choke on his own blood; feel every bone in his body shatter; would rather gasp his last fucking breath than do anything to harm another person.
But, he thinks, as he strides forward across the threshold of his house, things don’t only concern him anymore. His children dream in their rooms, their breaths even, peaceful.
Adrasteius steps out into the night, locks his door behind him. He has done everything he could to avoid this moment. But that terrifying, overwhelming force, that sinister power—the sha. Released here, in Silvermoon, in the city where his children sleep.
Adrasteius still has his ideals.
But they are not without limits.