The clash of pride and power

The restaurant was gripped by a suffocating silence, as if even the walls dared not breathe. The only sounds that remained were the faint creaks of shattered wood and the erratic breaths of those who remained within. The air had thickened, heavy with tension, pressing down like an invisible weight. Beads of sweat clung to the brows of Bako and Bili as they stood behind Nyxander, their nerves taut, their bodies poised as if anticipating an unseen threat.

Nyxander, however, remained as he was, unshaken. Seated with an air of utter composure, his sky-blue eyes reflected neither concern nor impatience, only an impassive curiosity. His presence was a quiet storm, a force of nature resting before it decided to rise. The contrast between his serenity and the apprehension in the room was striking.