[Border of Zahryssar — Beneath the Rainstorm — Continuation]
The storm showed no mercy.
Rain crashed violently across the desert roads while thunder roared above the gigantic serpent gates of Zahryssar.
Raviel and Zyvera remained standing calmly before the northern carriage. Rainwater dripped endlessly from their dark cloaks.
Yet strangely, neither looked uncomfortable beneath the brutal weather and inside the storm's shadows. Duke Aren Veyrhold stared at them coldly and carefully like a predator deciding whether the strangers before him were dangerous enough to kill.
Then finally his voice cut sharply through the rain. "What exactly do you want?"
The northern knights immediately tightened their grip upon their swords.
"Speak clearly." Duke Aren's grey eyes narrowed further. "…I possess no time to entertain roadside thieves."
For several seconds only the storm answered.
"Why am I pissed off hearing roadside thieves...we are professionals," Zyvera said.
