The grand, ornate door creaked open with a slow, reverberating groan, its hinges protesting against the sudden disturbance. From the dimly lit corridor beyond, a young man stepped into the room—a figure clad entirely in obsidian black, his attire outlined with faint crimson streaks that pulsed like veins of molten magma.
His raven-black hair fell in slight disarray over a face too sharp to be youthful, too composed to be ordinary. Twin scarlet eyes glowed faintly beneath the chandelier's flickering light—Einar Sanguis had arrived.
He smirked, calm and casual, like he had just strolled into a friend's room rather than into the den of a corrupted god. Without waiting for an invitation, he crossed the chamber and settled into the chair opposite Ness, the God of Darkness—now known as Lord Skin.
Einar reached out and plucked the teacup from the silver tray, his movements deliberate, even leisurely. He took a sip, savoring the warmth, letting silence stretch thin between them.
