Not the brown-olive skinned, horned figure he'd last seen. Not the battle-forged frame with obsidian eyes and dark ridged horns curving from his temples. This was something—someone—who looked completely, utterly, impossibly human.
The figure appeared to be perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old. Sharp features, aristocratic in a way that suggested old bloodlines and careful breeding.
Dark hair that fell in artful disarray across a face that could have belonged to any noble's son in any kingdom across the realms. Pale skin unmarked by scales or ridges or any hint of his true nature. And eyes—those eyes were the only remnant of what Nebulous Lord had been.
They held depths of absolute darkness, but now those depths were threaded with veins of violet chaos that pulsed with inner light, like distant stars burning in a void sky.
