His gaze rested on the little wolf, the only one that could maintain even a semblance of movement in his presence.
There was no exchange of words, only one of stares. Despite being in front of the Draconian, Festul's gaze was as fierce as ever. It remained unchanged, unlike his power and status.
The silence between them was suffocating, they merely scanned one another. It felt as if there were only those two in this expansive world.
But, that silence had to be broken, either by Festul, the former supreme of storms, or Azmakul, the Great General.
[You haven't changed a single fucking bit.]
And in the end, it was Festul who did it. Unable to handle the suffocating silence anymore.
Azmakul responded, his voice monotone. As if he didn't have any emotions behind that vicious mask of his. He was the true representation of a frost dragon.
[Yes, I did not change. Yet you...]
