Lucian and Ivan exited the trial dungeon, now back in Ivan's chambers. Time, as always, remained suspended—not a single second having passed in the real world since their brutal clash within the crater of blood and fire.
"That's nifty…"
Ivan muttered, glancing around the room as the ambient light of the chamber returned to its usual dim golden glow. His draconic form remained—gleaming scales catching the soft light, wings slightly flexed as if still ready for battle. He ran a hand along his arm, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he considered how—or if—he could reverse the transformation.
"While definitely comfortable and powerful," he continued, his tone thoughtful, "I don't know how my father will react to this."
Lucian gave a dry chuckle and sank into a plush couch nestled beside a towering bookshelf, the old leather creaking slightly under his weight. He crossed one leg over the other, exuding relaxed irreverence as he flicked a stray drop of blood from his sleeve.
