Orfry's lips curled into a slow, unnerving smile as his eyes locked on Vlad. "You could not possibly comprehend… how old I truly am."
The words were spoken without haste, yet they sank into the air like heavy stones dropped into deep, black water.
Vlad's grip tightened on his sword. His instincts screamed that the danger emanating from Orfry was growing—not steadily, but in great, suffocating leaps. Every nerve in his body tensed as the oppressive pressure mounted. Silent and steady, his energy began to rise, condensing into his weapon until the blade thrummed with lethal purpose.
Orfry, however, seemed utterly unconcerned. The energy gathering in Vlad's sword could have split mountains, yet the ancient being simply continued speaking, as though sharing an idle conversation.
