Starglow Basin la venganza se derrumba,

Stalking past Leto’s ghostly form and into the cave, Osiel rises tall and sable before them.

He is still, eyes gutting where they shift– first to the sniveling mess of blood that is the golden woman upon the floor. Second, to his leopard standing over.

Heavy shadows disembody Saya’s head. It floats in the ether, pooling apologies slightly out of sync, the torn body somewhere out of focus. A perversion, to vandalize such beauty. And yet there is no pity to addle his cold features.

The boy was a key. Not a chew-toy.

The boy had been their advantage to Muat-riya. Now they had this: a wounded operative and progressing hatred from their closest neighbors.

Before their seeds were even planted.

The blood eyes cut to Soto. This is his incompetence. His rage is an internal storm brewing violently. Pure emotion. But he isn’t a flunky or an errand boy. He is second-in-command who wants to run a fraternity, taking wars where he can find them.

The ocelote knows. This is for Juárez and Niño. The Segundo already had a sense of the imminent death that awaited if they didn’t play smart.

Sharp teeth glinted from his jaws. He weighs Saya and her wounds, “no vuelvas a llamarme.”

Turning for Soto, the pointed ears flare outwards, darkness unsheathed in the gleam of stoic eyes. “Limpia tu desorden. O lo haré.”

A once-over, then the patrón took his leave.