"Do you have any children, Damon."
Lazarak asked the question while the two of them walked down the long halls of the castle. His steps were light, almost hesitant, as if he feared disturbing the cold air.
Damon scoffed. He shoved his hands into each other and kept walking.
"If I had children at the age of seventeen, who would be raising who?"
Lazarak stopped in his tracks. His head tilted as he studied Damon, then a slow smile spread across his face.
"You are so young. With the way you are acting I thought you had lived several hundred years. Seventeen and already at the third class, impressive is an understatement."
Damon barely reacted. His expression stayed flat, unreadable.
"Are you one of those people who look down on others for being young? If you are, then I will have you know I have lived enough in my life to last me a hundred years."
Lazarak stayed silent for a moment. His eyes lowered, then he shook his head.
