Silent Terror

Zylan, still standing, tilted his head slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto the man. The room seemed to grow heavier with each passing second, as though the very air thickened under his intense presence. His dark eyes betrayed no warmth, no flicker of mercy—only the cold, calculating glint of authority, sharp as a blade.

"Now," Zylan began, his voice smooth, deliberate, and laced with a quiet menace. "Let's get down to business."

He took a single, measured step forward. The hem of his dark cloak swept across the floor like a shadow, its movement soundless, more predatory than human. The man before him trembled, his body betraying the facade of resilience he attempted to maintain.

"Who sent you?" Zylan's question hung in the air, sharp and unyielding, each syllable weighted with an unspoken threat.