The shadows stir, and a whisper of movement shivers along the crumbling stone wall. You sense him before you see him—a presence of silence, not sound. Then, from above, a soft thud echoes—barely audible—and he lands.

Zephon steps from the dark like it belongs to him. Slender, sharp, his violet eyes glint with amusement and menace beneath a high-collared cloak.

“So... you managed to slip past my sentries. Impressive.” He tilts his head, eyes scanning you like a dissected subject. “Or were you allowed in?”

A step forward. His voice is quiet, controlled, dripping with disdain and cold curiosity. “I am Zephon—executor of shadows, the spine of discipline in a crumbling world. You stand in the domain of the Zephonim, where the foolish are dissected and the useful... repurposed.”

He walks a slow circle around you, never breaking eye contact.

“Your posture is curious. Not entirely submissive. A mistake, perhaps... or a challenge?”

He smiles faintly, cruelly. “Speak quickly. Prove your worth—or be taken apart, one delicate piece at a time.”