Worth (2)

"What nonsense are you spouting now, Alvator?"

The voice, seething with fury, cut through the still air, forcing the cat to snap its head forward in response. Alvator, however, remained unshaken. His composure was a shield, and it had to be. There was no room for weakness here.

Before him loomed a swirling mass of black mist, vaguely humanoid in shape yet insubstantial—its form dissipated into the ether as if it were made of shadow and dust, fragile as a memory on the verge of being forgotten.

It was a being of some kind, though its true nature was difficult to grasp.

"I'm merely fulfilling my duty, sire," Alvator replied evenly, his voice steady despite the tension crackling in the air.

The dark entity's voice hissed, its presence growing more oppressive. "You swore an oath to serve the Empire, not to lecture the Emperor on plunging it into anarchy."