I opened my strained eyes, blinking rapidly as the blinding golden light gradually faded. My vision was a blur of radiant afterimages, the world slowly sharpening into focus.
The first thing I saw made me freeze.
A man sat upon an intricately carved throne-like chair, his posture relaxed, head resting against a raised hand. His hair was obsidian black, sleek and gleaming under the ambient light, while his eyes—scarlet and piercing—met mine with a knowing glint. His features… they were sharp, elegant, eerily familiar.
He was a spitting image of me—or perhaps it was the other way around.
Varek Sanguis. Einar's father.
He didn't radiate an overwhelming presence like Ness or Ebon. There was no soul-crushing aura, no oppressive force pressing down on me. Instead, he felt… human. Strangely grounded.
His crimson gaze lingered on me for a few seconds before a smirk curled on his lips.
"You're not possessed," he said, voice smooth and casual. "Good for you."
