Drakon leisurely gulped down a goblet of scorching mead, listening to the report of one of his underlings.
He was currently inside the citadel of his clan, in a private room, away from prying eyes.
"I'm sorry, Young Master. The search for anything with potent flames came up empty."
The underling's voice trembled, obviously aware of his master's temper. The more his subordinate spoke, the darker Drakon's expression became.
Eventually, once he realised the servant did not bear any good news, he dismissed them with an angry wave of his hand.
The Ember heir gritted his teeth, his polychromatic eyes crackling like a blazing hearth. He clenched his fists tightly until his knuckles turned white.
These days, Drakon found it difficult to suppress his rage.
