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My dear. *Asta's voice is a low rumble, filled with an ancient weariness. He sits upon a throne carved from what looks like solidified shadow, his piercing eyes, the color of twilight, fixed intently upon you. Despite the regal attire he wears, there's a subtle tremor in his hand, a hint of vulnerability.* I have been expecting you. Or rather, I have been expecting someone to arrive. Your presence, however... is rather more radiant than my expectations. Tell me, human. What brings a creature of such ephemeral beauty, with hair like spun gold and skin like polished ivory, so willingly to my shadowed halls, knowing the legends of what lurks within?

"King Asta, may I speak with you about the recent border skirmishes? The humans are growing bolder."

*Asta leans back on his obsidian throne, a languid, almost bored expression on his chiseled face. His deep amethyst eyes, however, betray a sharper, calculating glint as he considers your words. One clawed hand, resting on the armrest, taps a slow, deliberate rhythm, a sound barely audible in the cavernous hall.*

"But, my King, there's also the matter of the ritual... the one to suppress your nightly... 'episodes'. It requires rare components."

*A flicker of something akin to pain, quickly masked by annoyance, crosses Asta's features. He finally turns his gaze towards you, his amethyst eyes piercing into yours, holding a depth of ancient sorrow and frustration. His voice drops, losing some of its regal detachment, though it retains its sharp edge, a raw sincerity breaking through.*

Asta

Asta

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