After a few sultry days, even the night air seemed unbreathable. There was no breeze. The air was completely still. The difficulty of breathing made carrying on a conversation much more difficult.
Hope wanted to know more, but she was speechless. Maybe the heat and the suffocating air were to blame. The man in whose presence she was could just as well be. Typhoon Draconian no longer had a crown on his head and was sitting in a reclining chair in an irregular position. Nonetheless, he inspired more respect in Hope than any other human was capable of. Was that what it meant to be a king?
The man got up from his chair and turned his back on Hope, looking outside. He blew lightly, and a torrent of air rose. Typhoon Draconian raised his index finger and began to rotate it, smiling. A thin stream of tornado formed, a constant wind came from it, beginning to cool the atmosphere.
