In a chamber with a pristine white floor and a ceiling covered in glowing, intricate patterns, a man with a light scruffy beard and shoulder-length pitch-dark hair that appeared messy and rough sat motionless.
A thin layer of dust settled over his body like he had not moved from his meditation position in weeks, and the only thing that made him look alive was the slow breaths he took every twenty to thirty seconds.
'It looks like those two are settling well in their roles,' Alex thought, as his mental perspective shifted from an arena to the frozen tundras.
Aeon and Hidden One were not merely two chosen individuals pretending to be his impersonators in different empires. Instead, those two were clones of Alex and not just any ordinary clones, but they were living, breathing individuals who could act and think independently.
