Aleph lifted his head to look at his father. The King of Sand in his eyes was lean and solemn, with hands protruding from his robes that were little more than skin covering bones, veins bulging beneath the skin like a shadow seated upon the throne. Yet, only his eyes burned with fiery flames, exuding an awe-inspiring majesty.
He was long past the age of vigor, yet only his mind remained as sharp as a youth's, just as it had been over a decade ago. At least in Aleph's view, no one would dare to play tricks in front of this man—his own father—easily, and even he, as his son, often felt a touch of unease under this pressure.
But today Barbaltan's tone was very gentle, just like an ordinary old man: "Have you seen Berlede lately?"
Aleph nodded.
