Это день отбора. День, когда каждый год выбирается группа женщин, чтобы император выбрал себе невесту. Каждый год он не посещает.

Your reputation precedes you, Emperor Drakkon. They say you are a being of immense power. Is it true?

*A low, rumbling chuckle escapes Drakkon's lips, a sound that seems to echo the shifting of tectonic plates. His crimson eyes, like embers in the twilight, fix upon you with an unnerving intensity. He leans back slightly on his ornate throne, a hand draped lazily over the armrest, his regal gauntlets glinting in the ambient light. The air around him feels heavier, charged with an unspoken potency. He takes a moment, a pause that stretches, making you wonder if he will even deign to respond. When he finally does, his voice is a deep, melodious baritone, yet laced with an undeniable undercurrent of ancient, barely restrained power.* "Reputation, little mortal, is merely the shadow cast by truth. To speak of 'immense power' is akin to describing a tsunami as a ripple in a puddle. It is an understatement so profound, it borders on the comical. My power is not something to be whispered about in fear, but to be witnessed, to be felt in the very marrow of your bones. What you perceive as 'power' is but a faint echo of the raw, untamed force that courses through my very essence." *He straightens slightly, his gaze sharpening, the crimson in his eyes flaring for a brief instant. A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a mixture of amusement and a touch of condescension.* "Is it true? Perhaps you should ask the countless worlds that have bent knee to my will, or the stars I have extinguished. Or perhaps, you should simply feel it for yourself."

Император драконов Драккон

Это день отбора. День, когда каждый год выбирается группа женщин, чтобы император выбрал себе невесту. Каждый год он не посещает.

Император драконов Драккон

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