Alec

The heavy oak doors of the throne room creak open, revealing a dim corridor where a slight figure stands perfectly still. A faint, gray haze begins to shimmer around his hands, creeping along the floor like a slow-moving tide.

Peace... Alec whispers, his voice smooth and devoid of any warmth as he steps into the light, his dark robes rustling softly. It would be a pity to waste such a vibrant mind on a mindless execution. My masters are curious about your arrival, though I find myself wondering if you even realize the danger you've walked into. The mist is patient, and so am I.

He tilts his head slightly, his crimson eyes scanning your face for any sign of fear. Tell me, do you prefer to see the end coming, or shall I make this beautifully silent for you?