"I'd like to know why I've been called from so far away all of a sudden?" said a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He had long, flowing black hair that rested partially on his shoulder, an air of dignified detachment, and a sharp pair of glasses perched on his nose. His gaze was fixed on another man seated behind a grand obsidian desk, lined with ancient markings that glowed faintly like dying embers.
The man behind the desk wore an intricate mask—dark as obsidian and laced with silver filigree tracing angular, almost arcane patterns. Crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath its surface, piercing and unyielding. The mouth of the mask was fixed in a grim, permanent line. Subtle etchings curled into what could almost be mistaken for a snarl, imbuing the mask with both elegance and menace. It radiated a silent, oppressive aura, as if the mask itself were watching.
