Dr. Aris Thorne stood on a twisted branch of his monstrous creation. He looked down at them not as a villain facing his foes, but as a professor about to lecture an interesting class.
"Don't bother," Thorne said, his voice echoing slightly in the silence. He raised a casual finger.
Draven, who had been about to unleash a battle cry and charge, froze in place. A thick, thorny root erupted from the ground. It was black as obsidian and slick with blight. It coiled around his leg. It didn't crush or squeeze; it simply held him, its grip absolute and effortless.
"I am not here for a messy display of strength," Thorne continued, his eyes ignoring the powerful warrior and settling on Jonah. "I am here for a conversation between peers. You are the other Weaver, are you not? The boy who makes things from scraps and whispers secrets to beasts. I confess, I'm intrigued by your… basic methods."
