Inside the isolated spatial dimension, Auren was sealed away by none other than Emperor Romeov himself.
The air was heavy, thick with a strange pressure that clung to his lungs and made every breath taste of iron.
The walls of the pocket realm stretched into infinity, yet it felt suffocatingly small, as if the very space was folding in on him.
Above, the skies were painted in eerie hues of violet and black, stars twisting unnaturally in constant motion.
And in the middle of this warped prison stood Emperor Romeov, holding a legendary grade sword that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"Be honest with me kid."
His grip on the blade was steady, his stance relaxed yet oppressive.
Each step he took toward Auren thud like thunder against the invisible floor, echoing in the boundless void.
"Looking at the elvish writing on that ring," Romeov said coldly, his deep voice echoing like a commandment, "I know you did not make that. So tell me…"
