The suddenness of the action was so jarring that it sent a visible shockwave through the Veynar lines.
Behind Sol, the warriors instinctively flinched, raising their bone-shields and gripping their spears tighter, fully believing that the sudden drop in his posture was the wind-up for a devastating, high-speed leaping attack.
When you are standing in a dead zone facing heavily armed warriors who had ignored your pleas for survival, a sudden bow feels more like a drawn dagger than a greeting.
But Vane didn't move to attack. He stayed bowed, his thick, graying hair hanging toward the white gravel.
Everyone was utterly confused and stunned.
The crushing tension in the air fractured into a million pieces of sheer bewilderment.
Ignoring the rattling weapons and the heavy, panicked breathing of the Veynar warriors, Zharun Chief Vane's voice boomed across the hundred-pace gap. It wasn't a roar of aggression, but a deep, resonant tone that carried a strange, practiced solemnity.
