Summit of Influence

As Aresenn emerged from the depths of the catacomb, Sephiran regarded him with a look of anticipation. Hues of amber locked with those of emerald and amethyst, the Sultan’s posture shifting imperceptibly, as he rolled his shoulders forward and continued to exude an aura of dominance. “Aresenn,” He’d begin, watching as the male reclined into a seated position, readying himself for whatever Sephiran had to say. Time seemed to slow, each moment stretched with the tension of anticipation. It was as if Aresenn was bracing himself for the unknown, steeling his resolve for the encounter about to unfold. One could never be too careful, given Sephiran’s impulsivity and grandiosity.  

“My crowned Emir,” The smirk that cracked this expression was akin to a serpent basking in the warmth of its own malice- a silent proclamation of the sinister satisfaction welling inside of his chest. “What will your first task be?” There was a spark of anticipation shining in Sephiran’s gaze, as he truly wanted to know what Aresenn’s first goal of Emir would be. Perhaps organizing a raid? Training their warriors? Investigating their next domain to control? Questions, questions, questions. And so many possibilities.


"Sephiran Saxe"