For a moment, it almost seems as if he might reconsider, as though the king's gentle nature and goodwill towards his friend might change this course of his that is, admittedly, very unlike himself.

Something conflicted flickers briefly in those pale blue eyes, before the sharp focus it brought seems to fade. The edges of his face tighten, and he turns instead to place a pale hand to the door.

Dust flies from the edges as airflow stirs, the entrance cracking open. He can hear the chains jingling as he steps through into the sweltering heat of the tunnel beyond, can hear Wrathion's desperate pleading fading behind him as the door closes.

Hopefully, the Chained God can hear him too.