A pause — brief, carrying within it the particular quality of someone drawing themselves up into a more appropriate posture. Then, with the measured dignity of someone who has had this conversation before and has developed a standard response to the skepticism:
"Hmmph. You are not the only one to have doubted my abilities."
The runes pulsed once — warm and golden — as if punctuating the statement with the particular, self-possessed emphasis of something that considers its own existence to be sufficient evidence of its nature and finds the repeated necessity of making this case mildly exhausting.
Lukas stood in the freezing dark, in a chamber full of ancient bones, at the end of a journey that had included a legendary serpent, a bone-filled paradise, a bloodline awakening, and a Moonflower reduced to dust, and looked at the talking chest that had chosen him.
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"...How long have you been here?"
