After a walk that lasted much longer than Adam had expected, he halted before the Titan and gazed at his features.
Wrinkles deeper than canyons dug intricate mazes on his sunken cheeks and weary forehead. Like unruly vines, a white beard and hair cascaded down his severely atrophied muscles. He could tell they had once been powerful, but only a shallow echo of their grandeur remained—just like his time-worn toga. The color on what remained of it had faded, and time had gnawed on the divine fabric, leaving just enough to cover his lower body for a century more, perhaps two.
As he observed him, the Titan did the same. His hazel eyes narrowed, but the golden chains prevented him from moving. Instead, his bluish-pale lips parted to let a hoarse voice out. "You've finally come."
Adam tilted his head, frowning. "Were you perhaps waiting for me?"
