After making sure with all the means at his and his companions’ disposal that there was nothing magical or mechanical he might disturb, he activated the orange eye on his right shoulder.

The rock wall became soft, and multiple lines appeared on its surface as if dozens of invisible fingers were drawing in perfect harmony. When Morok was done, the lines formed the stylized form of a woman holding two winged babies.

“There. If I can’t remember where I left a picture of my wife and children, then nothing else is going to work.” He said, staring at his work with pride.

There were too few details to identify the subjects of the mural, but the softness of the lines expressed all the love and affection that the artist felt for them.

“This is incredibly romantic.” Quylla squealed, holding the Tyrant’s arm.

“Yeah, but it’s not for everyone. I suck at drawing, and I have no mystical eye to help me.” Nalrond sighed. “Any attempt to draw Friya would look nothing like the original.”

“You could always draw her boobs.” Morok shrugged. “It’s not that difficult, and I bet they are hard to forget.”