What truly interested Apollo was the real White Dragon King: the terrifying White Dragon known as Frostwing, who had worked countless miracles, become a legend among Great Dragons, and even slaughtered a True God. That magnificent bastard named Bai He.
"Have you made up your mind, little fellow?" Apollo walked over and crouched before the White Dragon, patting him on the head as though playing with a pet lapdog.
Angdalagon seethed. His pride as a Great Dragon would not allow anyone to treat him this way, but fear of death made him submit.
And while Apollo considered those pats affectionate, they left the White Dragon feeling as if he had a concussion.
Endure it! I have to endure it! Angdalagon told himself. How many years did I scrape by in that damned world? Didn't I escape and survive until now? How many Five-Colored Dragons I knew back then were stronger or more talented than me? They couldn't stand the loneliness or swallow the humiliation, and where are they now? Every last one died before I did.
Angdalagon kept consoling himself, shoring up his resolve.
He might never have developed a formal theory, but this White Dragon was certainly a master of practical psychology.
After that pep talk, he looked up at Apollo without a trace of resentment or distaste. If anything, he looked like a devoted hound. His eyes were practically sparkling.
Apollo nearly snatched his hand back. Being looked at that way by a male Great Dragon made his backside clench, and he took an instinctive step back. Damn it, does this useless White Dragon have some unspeakable kink? Father did have a thing for men back then, but... that's too much for me.
Apollo's thoughts wandered, and he found himself remembering Venus, the goddess of beauty...
*Damn it,