Outer Regions.
The Insectoid Prison.
The perfectly cut walls of black starlight stone gleamed with a metallic sheen beneath the cold blue illumination.
Aren's tall figure lounged casually against the corner of the cell. His long black hair cascaded like a waterfall down his back, a few unruly strands falling across the sharply defined lines of his face.
Thick lashes cast faint shadows over his eyes, concealing those dark pupils capable of ensnaring souls.
"Have you found what I asked for?"
At the prison door, a transparent silhouette slowly materialized into a kneeling figure.
"Reporting to Master—no, not yet."
"Then why did you come back?"
Aren tilted his head slightly to look at him.
His voice was lazy, unhurried, the final note lifting faintly—soft as a feather brushing against the ear, stirring the most sensitive of nerves.
The man kneeling on the ground swallowed nervously.
Serving at their master's side truly honed one's willpower.
