Ethan then turned towards Ezekiel, his cosmic gaze settling on the weathered city lord who still clutched his damaged spear. "I promised you Gold rank, didn't I?"
Ezekiel nodded his head, memory flooding back to their conversation from what felt like lifetimes ago. Before the Tower. Before the transcendence. When Ethan had been someone who made promises with warmth in his voice rather than cold certainty.
"You did, my lord," Ezekiel replied, his voice hoarse from the recent battle. "But I never expected—that is, I thought perhaps when you returned from the First Sanctuary..."
Without warning or ceremony, Ethan reached out and placed his palm against Ezekiel's forehead. The contact was gentle, almost tender, but the power that flowed between them was anything but.
