The God of War noticed.
His eyes, which had been scanning the crowd with bored indifference, stopped. He saw the small dragon standing alone, her silver hair catching the light of the heavenly table, her violet eyes fixed on his throne.
She was not kneeling. She was not even bowing. She was simply standing, watching, waiting for something that had not yet arrived.
He did not like it.
He turned to the angel who stood beside the divine table, a lesser being, a servant, a messenger whose wings were made of folded light and whose voice carried the authority of those he served. He nodded toward the field below, a slight movement of his head that conveyed more than words could express.
The angel understood.
He stepped forward, his wings spreading wide, their feathers catching the light and scattering it into rainbows that danced across the void.
