[As if he were a puppeteer, those fingers that twirl the hair at the base of Eridanus' skull manage to gain some reaction. Long, tufted ears twitch, the emotion displayed by them subtle, and no doubt lost on Lucius. The color in his cheeks, however, betrays him. There's a moment where frustration takes him, an irritation for how easily his pulse quickens when it comes to even the slightest of Lucius' touches—as if he were a schoolgirl, reveling in the fleeting attention of her love.

There is a part of him that is thankful for the foot Lucius so elegantly places in his mouth, anger flickering through him at the mockery of his lifespan, though it doesn't last as it's quickly dissolved with a subtle, tight smile.]

The last ended roughly a year ago. [Eridanus' shifts, a strategian tone taking over him,] though the war against the demonic legion spanned millennia, their organizational attacks were finitely marked through our history. Eclipsing that, there were three major wars that encompassed all of Vathea, with smaller territorial disputes, and political usurpings parsed between.

[He draws a slow, steadying breath as his claws stay themselves from the idle mapping against Lucius' thigh. His gaze is turned away, as if the memories of those times were flashing before his very eyes. Perhaps they were, for unlike Lucius, Eridanus remembers every single one. They numbered less than his fingers in total, but they were long, hard-fought, and devastating.]

I'm sure the wars fought by a magister of such an insignificant lifespan would be boring to a great warlord such as yourself. [Eridanus sneers, and he turns a malicious grin against Lucius as his claws dig into the meat of his thigh in playful threat.]