Ring (I)
The man from Asia Minor slowly sat down. He placed his right hand on his knee, then opened it. A golden ring lay quietly in his palm.
The ring had weathered countless hardships. Its surface was covered in mottled scratches and the black stains left by blood and fire. Time had shown it no mercy, even though it had once belonged to the Master of Mankind before being personally bestowed upon an unstoppable commander. Whatever glory it had once borne no longer remained.
The man gazed at it absently, only speaking several minutes later. His low voice trembled in the dim light.
"He treasured it."
"No, that wasn't it," Kael Lohars said. "An orphan from Cthonia, with no fixed home and no one to rely on, surviving only by attaching himself to gangs. Then you came and saved him. So the ring itself wasn't important, my friend. He treasured it only because it was a gift from you."
"I saved him?" The man from Asia Minor could not help but laugh. His fingers closed around the ring, rubbing its edge. "Perhaps I harmed him instead."
At those words, the third person present coldly raised his staff. One ten-thousandth of a second later, it struck the ground heavily, producing a genuine peal of thunder.
Malcador's anger resounded without restraint.
"Sentimentality. Self-pity." The Sigillite's rebuke was utterly merciless. "When will that indecisive nature of yours finally be corrected? You are the most resolute and wisest soul I have ever seen, yet you insist on binding your own hands and feet."
The man from Asia Minor leaned back against his chair and sighed. "Be more forgiving with me, will you, Malcador?"
"No."
"I'm asking you."
"No!" The Sigillite glared at him. "I have been forgiving enough. I will not yield on