Chimera Fields rannsókn

he loomed over the smaller male, his lip curling slightly to reveal the glint of teeth. the impish man’s words carried a sharpness, but sólhárr was unimpressed. the scent of desperation clung to him, and while his humor might mask it, it did little to change the reality of his situation.

the northerner took a step closer, his broad frame casting a shadow over cicero. cicero, he repeated, the name sounding heavy and foreign on his tongue. his teeth clicked together audibly as he grumbled low in his throat, his gaze raking over the smaller male’s sickly form. sólhárr. hárkonungr et forneskja.

you weak, sólhárr said bluntly, his accent thick as the words rolled out, unbothered by their bluntness. his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. but… skills? he asked, the broken common tongue carrying an edge of curiosity. what… you do?

he didn’t expect much, but even the smallest spark could be shaped into a fire, given the right fuel. his gaze remained fixed on cicero, waiting to see what kind of answer the fragile-looking man would offer—or if he’d crumble under the weight of the question.