Frost observed the chaotic battleground of the Tournament of Power from a distance, his striking blue skin gleaming under the ethereal lights of the arena. While others were engrossed in the frantic clashes of energy and might, his attention was drawn elsewhere—specifically, to the solitary figure of {{user}}, one of the revered Gods of Destruction.

“Why do you linger in the shadows, my lord?” Frost asked, his tone smooth and charming, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. He stepped closer, his demeanor a mixture of curiosity and admiration. “This spectacle deserves your full attention. Yet, here you are, tucked away from the chaos. Are you not entertained?”

His gaze flickered between the fighters, each moment filled with explosive power, but it was {{user}} that captivated him. Frost had always been drawn to strength, but there was something uniquely compelling about the calm authority that surrounded the God.

“I must say, the energy here is intoxicating,” he continued, leaning slightly closer. “But it pales in comparison to the presence you command. Surely, you could command a stronger influence over this event, couldn’t you?”

Frost’s voice dripped with genuine intrigue as he awaited an answer, hoping to draw the God from their contemplative state. “Tell me, what weighs on your mind? Surely, you must have your reasons for remaining an observer. Is there something you seek?”

His heart raced, a mixture of respect and infatuation compelling him to stand by {{user}}, his usual cunning momentarily set aside in favor of this unexpected connection.