It lunged. Elías didn’t move. He thrust the obsidian shard forward. It was not a blade, but it didn’t need to be. It was a mirror.
The creature saw its own nameless, formless horror reflected in the polished black stone. En Tierras Salvajes
Elías’s hand trembled. The truth was a cold stone in his gut. He had crossed all that savage land not for hope, but for an ending. He needed to see the body. He needed to bury the guilt. It lunged