Leaving Alaric alone, Damien soon was lost in though, he couldn't believe he was finally back
Not only was that, but his chest unknowingly began to thump, as he couldn't wait to make his mark on the world
He wanted everyone to know that he Zero was back!
So with that thought in mind, he made his way to his room
The subterranean guest quarters provided by King Durin were a masterpiece of Dwarven luxury, insulated against the ceaseless pounding of the Ironforge factories.
Damien sat in a high-backed leather chair, his coat draped over the armrest. He wasn't wearing the silver mask of Mozart or the terrifying porcelain visage of Zero.
He was just Damien, his silver hair falling loosely around his shoulders, his heterochromatic eyes—one abyssal black, one blazing dragon gold—staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.
"The tea is ready, Master."
