"You've got to be kidding me," a young man scoffed. He had short, messy hair the color of rusted iron, and his uniform jacket hung half-open as if he couldn't be bothered to wear it properly.
A blade rested across his back, the hilt decorated with gaudy charms that jingled when he moved.
"They always send us the useless ones," he muttered, arms crossed. His eyes looked over at Riven, unimpressed.
Arixa's eye twitched sharply. She stepped forward, fists clenched at her sides. "Did you just call him useless? My father is stronger than..."
"Father?" the man cut in, laughing harshly. "That scrawny bastard? Don't make me laugh. I could be older than him myself. No way he's your old man."
Riven tensed, jaw tightening, but before he could respond, Arixa flared up. "Don't you dare speak of Father that way!"
