Malachi instantly panicked at the sight of the man and immediately fell to his knees. That sudden movement made Alrock pause and reevaluate the handsome man, even though he couldn't feel the slightest threat from him.
His ashen-grey hair drapes over his shoulders like strands of mist, perpetually shifting as if caught in an invisible breeze. His eyes are voids, pupil-less expanses of pale silver, reflecting nothing yet seeing all. Impeccably dressed, his garments fuse noble refinement with occult grandeur. Donning a deep charcoal suit with silver embroidery layered beneath an elegant high-collared coat that shimmers with faint, otherworldly sigils.
There wasn't a shroud of mana or aura from the mysterious gentleman, yet… Alrock felt like he couldn't underestimate him.
"P-Prophet!"
"Calm yourself, and don't break attention, Malachi. We're still in battle."
"Y-Yes, sir!"
