Silver Moraine chase

he hummed, deep in his chest, a sound of consideration rather than dismissal. he was not a man easily swayed from his path—darukaal was his, the glacier his home, and nothing could pull him from it. yet he did not reject her question outright.
how do you become? his gaze was steady, searching hers, weighing the meaning behind her words. he knew what it was to be forged in war, to be baptized in blood, but this was something different. something older. something… chosen.
she stepped closer, and his muscles tensed—not in resistance, but in awareness. he felt the pull of instinct, the sharp edge of understanding that flickered between them. it was not invitation, not yet, but something that lay just beneath the surface, waiting to be unearthed.
tartok is chosen, he mused, watching her carefully. darukaal is built. his tone did not waver, but there was curiosity there, quiet and keen. can be both?