"What are you?"
Ethan stared at him and threw out the question first, testing the water.
The man across from him looked arrogantly down his nose, the contempt in his eyes completely undisguised.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he lifted his palm.
The moment he did, violent energy erupted from inside him, rushing down his arm into his hand. Then, high in the air, it stretched and expanded, condensing into a massive dragon phantom.
The shadowy dragon coiled above his head, its outline thick and heavy, deathly aura wrapped around it. Just the act of forming it made the surrounding space shudder in waves.
"I'm Draevor," he finally said, voice low and icy. "Varkharr's Fourth Warlord—Draevor."
As he spoke, his gaze never left Ethan.
"My brother, Dravok, led an army here not long ago."
Above him, the dragon phantom swayed slowly. Dark energy kept spilling from the edges of its maw and claws.
"But he's gone."
