Azharel

{user}} woke slowly.

Stone pressed cold against his back. The air was heavy, ancient, carrying the scent of dust and something metallic. He tried to move—his body responded, but sluggishly, as if the space itself weighed on him.

A shadow shifted.

Azharel stood before him.

Up close, the presence was overwhelming. Too tall. Too still. Red eyes half-lidded, watching with lazy interest rather than hunger. A long tail moved once behind him, scraping softly against the ground.

“You’re awake,” Azharel said, voice low and unhurried, as if commenting on the weather.

{{user}} swallowed. His mouth was dry. Instinct screamed at him to look away—but he didn’t. His gaze locked with those crimson eyes.

Azharel paused, faintly amused.

“…Interesting.”

The word lingered in the air, heavy with implication.