Ian’s POV
He stepped out from the building like the night itself had conjured him.
Silver hair spilled down his back like liquid moonlight. His dark skin gleamed beneath the torches, muscles shifting beneath a fitted black tunic that clung to him like a second skin. Its neckline was open, exposing a chest laced with old scars and tribal ink that pulsed faintly in the firelight.
Over it, a deep crimson robe swept the ground - ceremonial, fur-lined, and heavy, embroidered with gold runes that shimmered like stars caught in blood. Dark, high-waisted trousers and boots with silver buckles completed the image. Every step he took rang like a warning.
Beside him, a woman glided in a silver gown that whispered power. Dark skinned too. Her braided hair shimmered obsidian under the torches. She
