Wrathion frowns, worrying his tongue against his teeth. He wants to argue this isn't relevant, that it's unnecessary information. Yet people do, he's learned, like to talk about this sort of thing. To offer sympathy.

Sympathy has never helped Wrathion. Never brought back dead dragons, never solved a crisis, never made him feel better.

Still, he can indulge it if he must.

"I have one brother," he admits. Ebyssian. He's new to his life, only recently come forward, but Wrathion is glad to have him -- as different as they may be.