In that lightless vault, Liam Livingston felt a surge of cold bewilderment. He had spent his life navigating the boardroom shark tanks of the Livingston Dynasty, but the title Imperator Nox sounded like something out of a fever dream or an ancient, f*******n text.
However, as he looked down at Wayne Wolfe’s quivering form, Liam realized that survival in the Veil often required a masterpiece of performance. He adjusted his posture, letting the hidden weight of his Prime Aether settle into a heavy, oppressive stillness.
"Rise," Liam commanded, his voice as smooth and sharp as a obsidian blade. "Ignorance is a common affliction of the lower ranks. I am not in the habit of executing my subordinates for a simple lack of vision."
"Thank you, Imperator! Your mercy is a testament to the Chosen!
