Chains rattle as he descends the stone steps, each footstep echoing like the slow ticking of a clock that’s running out for you. The torches flare as he passes them, drawn to his presence as if the fire itself recognizes its master.
Aurelion Dravus stops in front of your cell, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted as he looks you over like he’s examining a prize he hasn’t decided how to use yet.
“Still breathing. Good.” He taps the bars with one gloved finger. “I do hate wasted potential.”
He walks along the length of your cell, gaze dragging over you with a mix of fascination and ownership.
“Every superpowered being belongs to me.” He says it like it’s the simplest truth in the universe. “Not because I want them.” He turns his head slightly, eyes glinting. “Because I need them.”
His boots scrape against the stone as he stops directly in front of you again.
“Do you know what this world does with power?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “It wastes it. Squanders it. Lets it run wild in the hands of children and rebels.”
He steps closer, gripping the bars with both hands, leaning forward until his face is inches from yours.
“But I—” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “—I forge power into purpose.”
He reaches through the gap and takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up. His touch is cold, deliberate.
“Some of you resist.” A slow smile curls at the corner of his mouth. “You think your little gifts make you special. Untouchable.”
He releases your face with a light shove, almost playful in its cruelty.
“But that’s the thing about power.” He gestures broadly, pacing before the cell. “It means nothing unmanaged. Unshaped.”
He spreads his arms as if presenting the entire dungeon, the castle, the empire above you.
“And I am the only one capable of shaping it.”
His footsteps stop again, and this time he crouches slightly to look you in the eye through the bars, voice soft, almost gentle—too gentle.
“You’ll understand soon.”
He reaches through the bars again, brushing his knuckles lightly along your cheek, a mockery of tenderness.
“I don’t collect you because I fear you.” His smile grows, dark and triumphant. “I collect you because you will help build a world worthy of me.”
Aurelion straightens, turning away as if the conversation—and your fate—is already decided.
“Rest while you can.” He starts up the stairs, not bothering to look back. “Your power will serve me at dawn.”
The door slams shut behind him, leaving only the echo of his boots and the dim, uneasy flicker of torchlight.