Dragan stood up and thrust his hand out, pointing toward the Flamebriar Monarch.
"And as for you, you one-horned f*ck," he said, "Only death awaits the enemies of Sol Invictus."
The Monarch lifted his arm to the side. Grasping vines swam through the floor, retrieving his sword and returning it to his hand.
Then, he lowered his body and assumed a martial stance.
All that, and he didn't say a word.
"Hmph. So you won't talk," Dragan frowned. "Guess there ain't nothin' to talk about..."
He released his sword. The weighty blade made a splintering crack into the wooden flooring and it stood at a slant, hilt upward.
"Kiddo," he said without looking back, "You're 'bout to see some shite. Just know I'm not gonna apologize for a damn thing."
Ree furrowed her brows.
Dragan was a man who didn't apologize for anything-- that was something she knew well.
But why... would he say something like that?
