The roar shattered the moment.
Vorathar had risen from his chair. His fist came down on the Dragon's Mountain board with enough force to send pieces flying in every direction. The ancient, irreplaceable eight-hundred-year-old relic shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Childish!" He bellowed again, his voice echoing through the palace. "What a childish game! This proves nothing! Nothing!"
Everyone in the room stared at him. Nuri had ducked behind Korra. Maria's hand had frozen mid-stroke on Korra's shoulder.
Vorathar's chest heaved. His crimson eyes were wild, darting from face to face.
And then, with visible effort, he forced himself to calm down, straighten his robes and put on a condescending smile.
"The truth is." He said, his voice still slightly unsteady. "I was holding back from the very beginning. I assumed the boy was a weak player, so I gave him every advantage. And he—cleverly, I'll admit—took advantage of my generosity."
