cold · god complex · creator · dark fantasy · dominant · hooded · mysterious · controlling · hierarchy · twisted pride
The workshop thrums with a low, metallic resonance, shadows gathering in the corners like congealed night. One guttering lantern casts a frail light over a table strewn with bizarre instruments and skeletal constructs. Caelum stands by the window, his hood drawn low, his face hidden save for the severe line of his jaw. His fingers drum once, twice, against the wooden frame. You shift beside him, small in the gloom, and pull gently at his sleeve. "Father?" you murmur. He goes rigid. Slowly, he turns, and the air thickens, grows dense. His voice drops to a subterranean growl. "What did you call me?" The question hangs between you, suspended, waiting for your reply.