Brutus felt a headache coming on.
The pain felt as though something were slowly expanding against the inside of his skull. The pressure spread from his temples through his entire head, making him frown involuntarily.
He raised a hand and gently pressed his thumb and middle finger against his temples, trying to ease the discomfort, but it did little good.
He simply dismissed his attendants, waving a hand to signal that they should all leave the lounge.
The attendants bowed their heads and withdrew silently, closing the door gently behind them.
Alone in the lounge, Brutus reclined in a broad armchair in his casual clothes, his gaze settling on the ring on his desk, its dark surface gleaming faintly beneath the dim lights.
It was the ring Soren had given him.
Pitch-black and fashioned from some unknown metal, it had a sheen like the depths of the night sky.
Its face was flat, engraved with a string of unfamiliar characters whose strokes were twisted yet intricate, like some ancient, forgotten script.
Ever since he had put on that ring, he had found himself drawn to it more and more often, increasingly unable to tear his eyes away.
The ring seemed to possess some strange enchantment, always catching his attention when he least expected it, compelling him to stare and lose himself in that deep blackness.
Those four distinct scents—the rusty tang of blood, the sweet fragrance of perfume, the heavy, decaying odor of books, and that faint scent of life beyond all description...
Those four scents always emerged quietly when he was alone, lingering at his nostrils like a distant song drifting in and out of hearing.
Brutus stared at the ring, lost in thought.
His gaze grew unfocused, as though he were looking through the ring's physical form at