He pulled Simma outside the great hall, his stare heavy, unsettling, like a shadow pressing down on the younger man's chest. Simma shifted uneasily beneath it, the silence stretching until it began to bite. Then, at last, the stranger's lips curved into a grin.
"Well," he said, his deep voice carrying a curious mix of pride and intimidation, "good to know you passed your tournament, and that you have unlocked your beast."
For a moment, Simma smiled too. Relief slipped through him like a breeze; he had half-expected the man to order him into four hundred push-ups and four hundred and fifty sit-ups just for calling him strange man.
"Yeah," Simma replied, pride bubbling in his voice. "Well, I couldn't have done it without your help."
The towering figure smiled again; a smile so unfitting to his massive, mountain-like build, carved from ebony stone, that it almost looked out of place.
