HUNGER

This staring showdown went on for almost a minute. This particular Jarl-Nyvar had a natural commanding presence. He was tall, standing over six feet, his broad draped in a dark cloth that is typically worn under heavy armor.

The material clung to a well-built frame, hinting at the armor he had likely removed not long ago. He had brown hair, tousled yet regal, a framed face that bore a small but noticeable scar just above his cheekbone—evidence of a past battle.

Standing and observing the man in front of him, Alex was unable to sense any overt display of power, despite that, there was something about the Jarl-Nyvar—an aura that seemed to ripple beneath the surface.

It was subtle, almost surreal, as though hidden from the inexperienced eyes, but those attuned to power could sense it lurking, just out of reach, like a storm on the horizon, and Alex is one attuned to great power.