The night had settled over Drakoria, a blanket of darkness pierced only by the soft glow of streetlamps and the occasional flicker of candlelight from windows. In a sprawling mansion on the city's outskirts, Malachi Vex reclined in a high-backed leather chair, his fingers absently tracing the rim of a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid.
The room exuded wealth and a whole lot of money spent on the rather unnecessary. From the plush carpets underfoot to the tasteful paintings adorning the walls. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across Malachi's sharp features. His eyes, a piercing blue that seemed to cut through the dim light, stared contemplatively into the flames.
A soft knock at the door broke the silence. Malachi's gaze flicked towards the sound, his voice carrying a hint of irritation as he called out, "Enter."
