Velira's words drift with the wind, sharp with envy. Lightning ripples faintly across her scales as she circles lower.
"Every moment I waste here is a moment I could be with his majesty. I belong by his side, not watching empty fields."
Grathum grunts, rolling his shoulders, magma dripping from the seams of his stone-like skin.
"Careful what you say, snake. His Majesty gave the order. If he wants us here, then here we stay. Doesn't matter if the night is long."
Velira hisses softly—not in anger, but in raw frustration. The air bends under the subtle pressure of her wings.
"You think I don't know that? You sound like some grumpy old man. Don't you remember what it feels like to be in love? Tssk." Her voice trails off, and for a heartbeat, storm clouds ripple faintly around her wings.
