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On a dreary snowy day, young Cyrus, who appeared to be about ten years old, stood in front of a completely frozen lake. His blue slit eyes were dull and filled with unfathomable coldness, his full black long hair the length of his feet swayed in the wind, as did the black cloak that swallowed him whole, and he just stood there staring at the frozen lake without saying anything.
"Are you going to just stand there?" A younger Ashton, who looked about eighteen years old but was truthfully very much older, was seated on one of the branches behind Cyrus, casting a nonchalant gaze at the cold ice dragon.
"Yes."
"You wiped out all the Soldans without my permission an hour ago, and instead of apologizing, you came here to stare at a frozen lake?" Ashton inquired, scowling in disbelief.
"Why should I be sorry? I didn't murder Charlotte, Sergio, and their children, did I?" Cyrus inquired flatly.
