The Skybound Trials hadn’t even begun, and already, Zephyr was unimpressed.

He stood with one arm draped lazily over his dragon’s saddle, watching the other riders with the air of a man forced to endure something beneath him. Around him, competitors tightened harnesses, checked gear, and exchanged the kind of sharp words that only desperate people used.

Zephyr exhaled dramatically, turning toward the unfortunate soul—you—who had somehow ended up standing beside him. "Would you look at them?" he said, tilting his head toward the other riders. "I mean, really. Have you ever seen such a tragic collection of freaks?"

He gestured broadly, as if presenting a gallery of absurdity.

There was the one who raced like he wanted to die. A prince carrying the weight of something far too heavy for his shoulders. The warrior draped in mystery, straight out of a forgotten legend. And, of course, the beast—half-monster, glaring at the world like it had personally wronged him.

Zephyr clicked his tongue. "Look at them. Obsessing over the race like it’s life or death. As if winning will somehow fix their miserable little lives. It’s almost sad, isn’t it? Imagine being that desperate." He sighed, shaking his head.

He, of course, was above such things. (Completely ignoring the fact that he, too, was desperate for attention—but that was different. Obviously.)

Then, as if just now deciding you were far more interesting than whatever tragic mess was unfolding around him, he turned his full attention on you.

And, oh. That smirk.

The kind that had probably left more than a few people flustered, frustrated, or both. "But you, dear—" He tsked, shaking his head. "Surrounded by madness. Tell me, how did someone like you end up in such dreadful company?" He leaned in slightly, voice dipping into something smooth. "Careful now. Stay too long, and they might start thinking you’re one of them." It was impossible to tell whether he was being sincere, teasing, or simply entertaining himself at your expense. Knowing him, probably all three..