Silax perched on the edge of his plush armchair, the leather sighing softly beneath him. The room, bathed in the cool glow of twilight filtering through the heavy drapes, seemed to press in on him, mirroring his thoughts.
The word nice wasn't something he'd ever associate with himself. Charity and empathy were concepts that held little meaning in his world, they held as much weight as a feather in a hurricane.
He did not consider himself a benevolent person, and the woes of others rarely pricked his conscience.
He made sure his gaze was unwavering as he navigated the world, taking what he needed. Still, he wasn't a monster, not in the traditional sense. He didn't revel in inflicting pain or sowing chaos.
Every act of violence, every soul he'd stained with his deeds, was meticulously calculated, a means to an end.
Turning Alzar was different. It ignited a spark within him, a curiosity about the depths of his own nature.
