"I'm aware."
The voice didn't seem particularly imposing. It was the sort of voice you could easily forget—not particularly masculine or feminine, forgettable in its presence, though soft in its delivery. It wasn't quite lazy, but it erred on the side of it nonetheless.
The youth that sat on the throne was equally as forgettable. In fact, looking at his face, a single blink could seemingly wipe it from your memory.
Hard to grasp, ethereal, almost ghost-like.
And that was precisely how this young man was known.
Ghost.
If one wasn't speaking to him with esteem and reverence, this was the name they used. But what was shocking about all of this was that while a Thryskai with wings bowed to this young man…
The young man himself didn't have a pair of wings at all.
He was no Demi-God. He was a Mortal Thryskai.
