"You came with your wolf." Apollyon's words were not a question but a statement, his deep tone reverberating like the toll of a war drum. His voice carried not curiosity, but offense. To him, the act of bringing such a beast, a creature of that size, power, and unmistakable menace, was nothing short of disrespect. It was a silent threat cast across the hall.
"We all know an Ashbourne never appears in places like this without a wolf." Artemis turned her luminous gaze on Apollyon, her words smooth but unyielding. One by one, the other rulers shifted their attention: Geriant's sharp, calculating eyes; Samson's stern, burning stare; Vladimir's cold and measuring look. The weight of tradition hung heavy in their silence.
"You respect the tradition of a fallen house?!" Apollyon snorted, the sound sharp and dismissive, dripping with scorn. His lip curled faintly as he leaned back into his throne, exuding arrogance as though even the notion were beneath him.
