Draneg the Boneweaver sat upon the throne he had forged from the remains of ancient heroes and villains in the vast, eerie silence of his fortress of bones.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, a tangle of emotions he rarely allowed to surface. The words he had spoken to Andrew, the god-candidate, echoed over and over in his head like an eternal echo in a desolate canyon.
"You are a puppet of the dragon ancestor, Crhono!" he had shouted, his voice heavy with contempt and frustration. Now, in the solitude of his reflection, those words seemed heavier than the chains he used to rule his legions of undead.
He knew he had made a mistake. Not only had he insulted Andrew, but he had jeopardized the fragile alliance they had formed. Draneg rose from his throne with a sharp gesture.
