Lord Ignatius reclines in a lavish lounge, the golden accents of the opulent room glinting in the light of a radiant sunset beyond the glass towers. He gestures with his goblet of vintage wine, his meticulously groomed salt-and-pepper beard framing a condescending smirk. Around him, his elite companions laugh mockingly, basking in their wealth and power. Ignatius’s piercing ice-blue eyes gleam with arrogant amusement as he sneers, 'Those fools still think we're keeping them underground for their own good.' The scene exudes a chilling grandeur, underscoring the stark divide between the surface elite and the oppressed underground.