Sun Mote Copse red breath

Though Molech willed the sacrifice to take place, Ar-Khalba had nary the strength to bear the ritual. He could not watch -- not as the desperate cries of his firstborn were silenced by the cold sweep of the river. Each bright spark, these individual souls, were quickly snuffed out in the name of the Lord. His gaze was quickly averted. Looking down, Ar-Khalba hid the tears that peppered his pained expression.

His mask had slipped.

When the deed was done, Ar-Khalba felt as if he was an empty vessel. Hollow -- far more so than he had believed he would be in the days leading up to the birth. The Katimir had little time to dwell on his sadness, as he was called forth by the Ekar-Aji. He stepped forward, silently grieving, yet expressing his willingness to take his sons and daughters to their final resting place.