Iskandor’s laugh was a low, light sound as he watched Citadel dart ahead, the dare sparking a fire in his eyes. Atlantis Island, in the dead of night—Citadel knew how to raise the stakes, and Iska couldn’t resist the thrill of it despite himself. He surged forward, muscles bunching with each stride as he tried to match his brother’s speed, the chill air of the Col rushing past him with every gallop, every huff from his nares.
“Here's some advice!" he called, keeping close on Citadel’s heels. The dark path twisted before them, shadows playing tricks on his vision, but he relished the blood rushing hotly in his veins. The Cove would be waiting, a moonlit expanse of cold water, and he could already picture the way his brother would dive in if he lost.
"Swim fast when you lose, Citadel!” he teased, breath quickening with the exertion, willing his limbs to overtake his brother in the final stretch.
