The crippled grandmaster wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his sleeve, his glare still sharp as a blade dulled by rust, but something in his posture had shifted, and though his jaw was set in defiance, the flicker in his eyes betrayed a man caught between his rage and the spark of hope he had long thought extinguished. Lucas leaned closer, his words calm yet cutting through the silence that stretched between them like a drawn bowstring.
"If you prove yourself to be a good servant," Lucas said evenly, "if you abandon the venom of old grudges and show me loyalty with your actions instead of empty words, then I might consider giving you what you crave most. I might consider placing in your hand a potion that could restore what you have lost, your cultivation, your strength, the life you mourn every day."