Phei remained still beneath it all with his spine straight and hands resting loosely on his knees, while World Essence poured from him without the faintest sign of exhaustion. His breathing grew so faint that even Eira had to focus to follow it, and every breath stirred the amber haze ever so slightly, sending thousands of golden motes spiraling slowly around his white hair before they returned to their strange paths.
For several moments he looked nothing like the seventeen-year-old Dragon Eira knew.
But then again, this had nothing to do with age; it was his presence.
Phei seemed ancient the way the stars are ancient, carrying weight without wrinkles and history without years. His youthful body had not changed at all, yet what dwelt within it had grown so deep that the body itself suddenly seemed a passing vessel, as though some far greater existence had chosen this young form only because anything vaster would have crushed the world around it.
