"Ti is up sirs, they should be out any mont now" back at the hall where the entrance of the pocket dinsion is located, Sylvester suddenly spoke up in a respectful manner as he put his attention on the three aged n and a middle aged woman who stood beside him.
One of the aged n was the sa man who stood with Sylvester six hours ago who apparently doesn't sa to have shifted his position out of that place since that ti.
As for the second aged man, he stood with an imposing presence, his figure exuding both strength and intensity despite the years that had etched lines of experience into his rugged face. His hair, a wild mane of fiery red streaked with silver, frad his face like a crown of flas, hinting at a youth spent in constant action and vigor.
Thick, bushy eyebrows of the sa fiery hue arched over eyes that blazed with a fierce, unyielding light.His eyes, a striking amber, seed to burn with an inner fire, reflecting both a passionate spirit and a lifeti of hard-won wisdom. They were eyes that missed nothing, sharp and penetrating, capable of intimidating even the bravest of souls.
When he spoke, his voice was a deep, resonant growl, each word imbued with authority and fervor.The man's skin, weathered and tanned from years spent in the sun and elents, was marred with scars, each one telling a story of battles fought and adversities overco.
His jawline was strong and determined, covered with a rough, grizzled beard that matched the fiery hue of his hair, giving him a rugged, almost primal appearance.He wore a leather vest over a coarse linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular, sinewy arms marked with tattoos that spoke of ancient symbols and personal victories.
His hands, calloused and strong, seed capable of both great violence and tender care.
Around his neck hung a simple yet significant pendant, a small, fiery gemstone set in a crude tal fra, glowing faintly with a warmth that mirrored his inner fire.His attire was practical and worn, with sturdy trousers and heavy boots that had seen countless miles.
A belt adorned with various pouches and tools encircled his waist, each item precisely placed for quick access. Despite his age, his posture was upright and commanding, radiating a sense of unwavering resolve and fiery determination.
The fiery aged man was a living testant to the power of a passionate spirit and an indomitable will. His presence was a beacon of strength and fervor, inspiring both respect and a sense of awe in all who encountered him.
"I would like to know why is he here?" The fiery man suddenly said as he pointed at the other aged man that stood right next to him.
This aged man stood as a haunting figure, his very presence casting a pall over the surroundings and sending a chill through the air. His skin was ashen, almost ghostly, stretched taut over a gaunt, skeletal fra that hinted at both frailty and an unnatural endurance. Deep-set eyes, shadowed and hollow, seed to pierce through the soul of anyone who t his gaze.
They were a dark, unearthly shade, reflecting a cold, rciless wisdom that spoke of countless lives taken and a lifeti steeped in death.
His hair, long and lank, was a lifeless gray, falling in disheveled strands around his bony shoulders. It frad a face marked by deep lines and creases, etched by ti and untold horrors. His thin lips were perpetually set in a grim line, devoid of warmth or rcy.
Dressed in a flowing, tattered cloak of deep black that seed to absorb all light, he moved with an eerie, almost spectral grace. The cloak billowed around him like shadows, whispering softly as if alive with the echoes of the departed. Beneath it, his clothing was simple and dark, but ticulously maintained, a stark contrast to his disheveled hair and gaunt features.
His hands, long and skeletal, protruded from the sleeves of his cloak. They were marked with age spots and veins that stood out starkly against his pale skin, yet they moved with a precision and purpose that was unnervingly steady. On one bony finger, he wore a ring adorned with a dark, blood-red stone that seed to pulse with a life of its own.
The air around him was thick with an aura of death, a palpable sense of dread that seed to follow him wherever he went. His voice, when he spoke, was a low, rasping whisper that carried the weight of countless final judgnts, chilling to the bone and leaving no room for hope or redemption.
This aged man was a living embodint of death, his very existence a reminder of mortality and the inevitable end that awaited all. His formidable aura was one of cold inevitability and relentless finality, making him a figure both feared and respected, a harbinger of the end that none could escape.
"And why can't I be here Cao? Don't forget what the vice principal said about this matter" The haunting aged man replied back with a dissatisfied look on his face.
"And what if I said I want to forget?" The fiery aged man who apparently is nad Cao asked back in a provocative manner. But right at this mont, the only female in the group suddenly spoke up.
"That's enough you guys, or do you want to to shut you guys up?"
The middle-aged lady stood with an air of aloof elegance, her presence as cold and unyielding as a glacier. Her skin was porcelain pale, almost luminescent in its smooth, flawless perfection, devoid of warmth or color. High, aristocratic cheekbones frad a face that was both beautiful and stern, with sharp features that seed carved from ice.
Her eyes, a piercing shade of icy blue, held a chilling intensity. They were the kind of eyes that could freeze a person in their tracks, devoid of emotion and empathy, observing the world with a detached, almost clinical scrutiny. Her gaze was unflinching and penetrating, as if she could see through the very essence of anyone who dared to et her eyes.
Her hair, silver with hints of frost, was impeccably styled, swept back into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck. Not a single strand was out of place, reinforcing the impression of ticulous control and unapproachable perfection. The few tendrils that escaped the bun frad her face like strands of spun ice.
She wore a fitted, high-collared coat of deep, wintry blue, its fabric shimring faintly as though woven with frost. The coat fell to her ankles, tailored to accentuate her slender, statuesque figure, and was fastened with silver clasps shaped like snowflakes. Underneath, she wore a simple yet elegant dress of the sa icy hue, its lines clean and severe.
Her hands, encased in sleek, leather gloves, were always poised and controlled. She wore minimal jewelry, save for a single, striking brooch pinned to her collar—a large, flawless sapphire surrounded by a ring of tiny, glittering diamonds, reminiscent of ice crystals.
Her deanor was one of absolute composure and authority. When she spoke, her voice was cool and asured, each word delivered with precision and a touch of frost. There was no room for warmth or familiarity in her tone; she commanded respect through her sheer presence and unyielding deanor.
The aura around her was palpably cold, as if she carried the chill of a perpetual winter. Her movents were graceful yet deliberate, each step exuding confidence and an almost regal detachnt. She was a figure of serene, icy beauty, commanding both awe and trepidation in those who encountered her.
This middle-aged lady was the embodint of an ice queen, her very presence capable of freezing the air around her. She was a paragon of control, elegance, and an unapproachable chill, a living testant to the power and beauty of cold austerity.
"You..." Cao muttered with a furious look on his face as he pointed at the middle aged lady. But the lady didn't seem to care at this point as she has already put her attention back on the entrance of the pocket dinsion.
'I can't believe the four pillars of the academy actually ca here in person just to see the result of this exam. This is just unbelievable' Sylvester thought with a wry smile on his face. But right at this mont, the aged man who has been with Sylvester the earliest suddenly spoke up in a calm tone.
"Look alive guys, they are coming out"
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