At Ivan's mental command, Hexthorn unraveled into sinuous tendrils and dispersed, his summoning of the creature coming to an end. With the cell door ajar, Ivan and Lorson emerged cautiously and embarked on a quiet journey through the dimly lit hallway, their steps muffled and inconspicuous.
Lorson couldn't help but express his skepticism. "Talk to the king? He doesn't strike me as someone who's up for conversation."
Ivan's response was laced with a hint of determination. "That's exactly why we'll communicate through action."
Lorson's puzzled expression remained. "What does that even mean?"
They continued their path, eventually escaping the confines of the prison chambers and reentering the bustling streets. The previously heavily guarded prison area appeared eerily deserted, void of any vigilant eyes.
A realization dawned upon Ivan. "Can we blend in as normal citizens?"
Lorson assessed their chances. "I could manage, but your clothing is too modern to fit in."