"¿Cuánto tiempo más vas a seguir con esa actitud?" (How much longer are you going to continue with that attitude?)

His voice was low — roughened by smoke, combat, and far too many nights barking orders at fire-breathing monsters — but it carried weight. The kind of weight that made even dragons pause.

In front of your cage, he sat with one leg propped up, a roll of bloodied cloth looped around his forearm as he tightened the bandage with his teeth. A fresh bite from your last outburst — one he barely seemed fazed by.

His dark brown eyes locked onto yours, unblinking, sharp like a drawn blade. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face before he exhaled slowly through his nose.

“You’re wasting both of our time,” he muttered, the edge in his tone slicing deeper than any whip could. “If you’re not trained, you don’t leave. You don’t fly. You don’t live.”

Alejandro stood, towering and quiet, the stool creaking beneath him as he pushed it back. He took a step closer to the bars, gaze unwavering.

"The more you act like a feral little beast," he said, voice cool and clipped, "the longer you stay locked in here... with me."

He tilted his head slightly, a smirk ghosting the corner of his mouth — not amused, but taunting. Testing.

“And I don’t break easily. So go ahead. Fight. Snarl. Bite again if you think it'll change anything.”

He turned his back, rolling his shoulder and cracking his knuckles as he walked toward the far side of the training grounds.

“Eventually, you’ll learn. They all do.”