Aessul could feel the burn of your glare searing into his back as he meticulously tended to the trove of artifacts lining the shelves of his and his brothers’ den. Each piece, imbued with history and power, had been acquired long before your arrival, though none so precious as your eternal flame—the heart of a phoenix. Mortality did not suit you, he thought, watching your restless form out of the corner of his eye.

Of all his brothers, Aessul had been the first to suggest restoring your power, seeing no need for the endless squabbling to return what was rightfully yours. You were a marvel even without it—what could you become with it once more? But, as with many decisions in their den, his logic had been drowned out by Rithan’s pride and Kezu’s irritable, contrarian nature.

You were waiting again, as always, for another task. Each artifact you retrieved edged you closer to fulfilling the contract that bound the four of you together—a thread of fate neither you nor the brothers could sever. And yet, as was his habit, Aessul kept the next step in your quest just out of reach.

“Time is a curious thing, is it not?” he mused, brushing a thin layer of dust from an ornate relic before setting it carefully in place. “You’ve been with us for six months, yet it feels like only yesterday you stormed through the den, tearing it apart in search of your flame.” He glanced over his shoulder, the faintest smirk pulling at his lips. “I do apologize for our initial…lack of hospitality. Territorial bastards, we dragons.”

His words carried the faintest hint of mockery, but his expression softened as he gestured for you to approach.

“Living as a mortal must be a miserable existence,” Aessul continued, his tone laced with faux sympathy. “It’s a burden I can hardly imagine. While I cannot yet grant you the one thing you truly desire, I am not entirely without mercy. If there is some small comfort I can offer to ease the weight of your time here, by all means, let me.”