"If you have no hater, I'm in a different life, but I know I'll find a way to hate you," the man says, his voice steady and cold, directed toward Azarias.
They stand in a massive room. behind him, resembles a library. The shelves filled with books extend to the second floor, attached to a grand, spiraling staircase behind Azarias. Azarias sits comfortably in a rolling chair at the center of the room, his presence commanding despite his casual demeanor.
A large, sleek desk stretches before him, cluttered with an array of monitors, each displaying various streams of data. On the desk sits a minute, antique telephone—eerily reminiscent of those used in the early 1900s, its vintage style a stark contrast to the otherwise futuristic aesthetic of the room.
The polished metallic walls reflect soft hues of blue and silver, casting an otherworldly glow across the space. It feels like a merging of centuries, where the past meets an advanced, almost clinical future.
