A slow, scraping sound broke the quiet of the dim room. It was a woman’s nail, long and painted a deep red dragging along the wooden armrest of her chair.
Suddenly, the man across from her rapped his knuckles against his own armrest. “Enough, Vayra.”
But another, seated beside her, spoke next. A dark, shifting aura seemed to cling to him, swallowing the light around him. His eyes faintly glowed red. “Tharok... Why waste anger on something so small?” he said, his voice unnervingly calm. “Destruction is inevitable. It is above all.”
Vayra, the one with the red nails, only sneered. She was pale and sharp-featured, with eyes that seemed to enjoy the discomfort of others. A faint smile played on her lips as she deliberately scraped the wood again.
Then Tharok stood up. He was broad and imp
