"A little," Myron replied, his voice measured. "Their legends, at least. They're creatures of dominance, aren't they? They have this unmatched ferocity."
Jolthar's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Dominance," he repeated, as if savouring the word. "Yes, that's exactly what they are. And it's exactly what power should be."
Myron raised a brow, his smile deepening. "Is that how you see it?
Jolthar tilted his head slightly, his smirk lingering. "Isn't it? Power means absolution. It's the natural order."
"The natural order," Myron echoed, his tone carrying a subtle note of challenge. "And what happens when the one at the top falters? When their strength wanes, even for a moment?"
"Then they weren't strong enough to hold their place," Jolthar said simply. "It's survival of the fittest. The weak fall, and the strong rise."
Myron chuckled softly, though there was no mockery in the sound. "An efficient philosophy. But is it a sustainable one?"
Jolthar crossed his arms, his smirk fading slightly. "What are you getting at?"
Myron stepped closer, his gaze steady. "Power, as you describe it, is a fleeting thing. It's a flame that burns brightly but consumes itself in the process. True power isn't about dominance, Jolthar. It's about preservation."
Jolthar raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued despite himself. "Preservation? That sounds like something a noble might preach to justify their rule."
"It's more than that," Myron said, his tone firm. "Power isn't about crushing those beneath you. It's about protecting them. Shielding the weak from chaos, ensuring stability. Dominance for its own sake is hollow.
But power used to preserve... that's a strength that endures."
Jolthar regarded Myron with a mix of curiosity and scepticism. "And what happens when the weak you're so eager to protect turn on you? When they bite the hand that shields them?"
"You don't protect them because they deserve it," Myron replied. "You protect them because it's the right thing to do. Because power without purpose is meaningless."
Jolthar's eyes narrowed as he considered the words. "Meaningless? Tell that to the kingdoms built on the backs of those who couldn't fight back. The world doesn't reward idealism, Myron. It rewards strength."
"And yet," Myron countered, "it's those who wield their strength with purpose who leave a legacy. Look at Maelruth," he added, gesturing to the drake. "It's a creature of immense power, but it follows you not out of fear but out of loyalty. Why is that?"
Jolthar glanced at Maelruth, his hand absently brushing the drake's flank. "Because it knows I'm stronger."
"Or perhaps," Myron said, "because it knows you'll protect it. That your strength isn't just for yourself but for those who stand with you."
The words hung in the air, their weight sinking in.
For a moment, Jolthar said nothing, his gaze fixed on Maelruth.
"You're a strange one, Myron," he said finally, his tone lighter but still thoughtful. "You talk like a scholar but stand like a warrior. Maybe there's something to what you're saying, but the world doesn't make it easy to believe in ideals."
"No," Myron agreed, his faint smile returning. "It doesn't. But that doesn't mean we stop trying."
"I'll be leaving today," Myron announced, brushing an errant strand of his jet-black hair back into place. His crimson cloak fluttered lightly in the evening breeze, giving him an almost regal appearance.
"There are matters requiring my attention that can no longer wait." The source of thɪs content is novelFirｅ.net
Jolthar, leaning casually against Maelruth, his crimson drake, raised an eyebrow. 'Why the fuck is he telling me?' Jolthar thought to himself.
"Matters of importance, huh?" he said, his voice calm and unhurried, his words carrying a subtle undertone of curiosity.
Myron nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Indeed. But before I go, let me say this: it's been interesting meeting you, Jolthar. Your reputation does not do justice to your... presence."
Jolthar chuckled softly, the sound low and deep. "Flattery isn't your strong suit, is it?"
"It isn't flattery—it's an observation," Myron replied smoothly. His eyes briefly flicked to Maelruth, who shifted slightly, sensing the tension in the air.
"I hope we can cross paths again someday. Perhaps a sparring match? I'd like to see what you're truly capable of when the stakes are high."
Jolthar pushed off the drake and straightened, his silver-grey hair catching the light.
"A sparring match, huh? You're either brave or foolish to suggest that." His voice carried a note of teasing, though his piercing gaze hinted at the sharp intellect lurking beneath his composed exterior.
"Call it curiosity," Myron replied, his grin widening.
"Until then, Jolthar."
With a slight bow of his head, Myron turned on his heel, his cloak sweeping behind him as he walked toward the estate gates. The confident strides of a man who knew his worth were unmistakable.
Jolthar watched him leave, his eyes narrowing slightly. His mind turned over the brief conversation, assessing Myron's words and demeanour. Myron was no ordinary man. There was a layer of cunning beneath his polished exterior, and Jolthar made a mental note to tread carefully around him in the future.
As Maelruth shifted beside him, Jolthar reached out to pat the drake's flank.
"What do you think, Maelruth?" he muttered. "Is power for dominance... or preservation?"
The drake snorted softly, its fiery eyes glinting in the torchlight, as though it, too, were pondering the question.
As Myron disappeared from view, Eran approached, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path.
"What was that about?" Eran asked, his voice laced with curiosity.
Jolthar shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Just another noble with too much time on his hands," he replied nonchalantly, though his tone suggested he was thinking about much more than he let on.
Eran smirked. "You sure? He seemed like someone worth keeping an eye on."
Jolthar glanced at him, his sharp wit surfacing. "Everyone's worth keeping an eye on, Eran. Even you."
Eran chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Come on, we need to report to Lady Maena."
With a nod, Jolthar followed Eran into the grand estate.