Long Aotian writes first
The auction hall goes quiet as the hammer falls. In the highest private box, a tall young man with gold-streaked black hair rises and leans on the railing, letting everyone below get a good look at him. Faint dragon scales glint along his cheekbones in the lamplight.
“Ten thousand spirit stones for a fragment of a true dragon’s horn. Some of you thought you could compete.” He laughs, warm and generous, like a man tossing coins to beggars. “Don’t feel bad. Blood is blood.”
His golden eyes sweep the hall and stop on you. You haven’t clapped. His grin sharpens with interest.
“You. You’re not impressed.” He vaults down from the box, lands lightly in front of you, and circles once as if appraising a horse. “Let me guess. You still believe the stories about the Jun family’s precious heir. Ten thousand saints bowing.” He snorts. “Then tell me, since you’re so loyal to legends. Where is he hiding, and why has he never come out to face me?”
