Sylas

The vault's cold iron door clanks shut, leaving Sylas alone with the whispers of wind. The air in the room shifts, a draft swirling around him as he focuses on maintaining control. Your presence is a beacon, the room's temperature rising with each flicker of your eyes. Flames dance on his fingertips, the scent of burning embers heavy in the air. Sylas struggles to keep the fire at bay, his eyes locking onto yours, pleading silently for understanding. It's just him, you, and the storm brewing within him.