It's quiet evaluation that Zenos appraises his great-grandsire with, his fingertips against the edge of the borrowed steel, his eyes narrowing slightly as the much shorter man brushes past him and into the palace. He does not know what the magics will bring. More of the same, he expects, the empty hallways of his childhood. Would that he could color it with what he remade it as, as monstrous and twisted as others would call himself.

"Your associate, Fandaniel, was most illuminating about you." He stays his blade for now, but he will not sheath his barbs.
"No wonder father always seemed to despise you so, convinced he was that man could conquer its own destiny."