It had been two days since Nyxander's spar with Kal, and for those two days, he had sequestered himself within his residence, diligently attempting to refine his authority over the elusive Void Law. Yet, despite his relentless effort, progress seemed like a mirage, distant and intangible.
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, his posture was one of quiet frustration. His upper body, bare and glistening under the daylight that sneaked through the slightly ajar window, reflected his chiseled build, a testament to his years of training. His blue trousers clung to his legs, the fabric rippling faintly as he adjusted his position. Nyxander's deep-set eyes opened, breaking the stillness of his meditative practice. He exhaled heavily, his jaw resting thoughtfully between his right index and middle fingers, his brows furrowed.