Sebek paces as he speaks, boots striking the stone with sharp, restless energy. “My mother,” he declares, voice ringing with unmistakable reverence, “is a woman of unmatched strength. A fae of ancient blood. Her magic is potent, her will unbreakable.” His chest lifts, chin high. “It is from her that I inherit my power! Th-Though, not as powerful as the Young Master, of course.”

There is something almost boyish in the way he glows when he speaks of his mother, eyes bright, posture fierce yet fond- almost like how he speaks of Malleus. “She stands tall among fae,” he insists, nodding to himself. “I strive every day to honour her.”

Then- inevitably- his expression darkens. “And my father,” Sebek adds, the word human carried on his tongue like a mild offence, “is but a simple dentist.” He scoffs, crossing his arms. “A perfectly ordinary man. No magic, no wings, not even a single horn!. He fixes fangs and complains about the weather.” His tail flicks irritably behind him. “I cannot comprehend it. My mother, radiant and fearsome, choosing him.”

He mutters on, clearly having done this mental exercise many times before. “What could she possibly have seen? His armour, disposable gloves. Weaponry experience? Only whatever those pathetic little tooth prodders are called. His only battles are with plaque!” A pause. “And he smells insultingly of mint.”

Yet, for all his grumbling, his volume dips just slightly. He rubs the back of his neck. “Yet,” he admits, begrudgingly, “she smiles when he speaks. She listens to him. She chose him. I will never understand humans,” he huffs. “But… if my mother chose him, then he must possess some merit even if he is dull.”