Ruvindra and Paldor's children were always...strange ones. Andras did let his mind linger on the white wolves of the moor, but he didn't let his brain churn too hard on the matter. Vainglory was the one who wished an audience. He knew little about him other than his odd eyes...they all had odd eyes it seemed. All white. White wolves breeding with white wolves. How boring. Of course, he did get himself completely enamored with a demon of black and blood. Perhaps it is difficult to avoid the fates.

He remained in his throne of bone, waiting for the arrival of Vainglory. His mind was not fixated on it though. His eyes of sunset lingered in the distance, watching for any slight movement in the trees or swamps. He naturally still wished for the death of any gator that dare make it too close to the land while in his sights. Yet it was unmistakable when Vainglory broke into the scenery. He was a thing of ghosts and ghouls. He was a creature overly pretty with overly kept fur.

The demon's eyes narrowed at his approach, teeth baring slightly as Vainglory came to greet him. Lips covered his expert weaponry. Muscles ripple naturally as he arches himself forward a little, his head giving way a deliberate nod in his acknowledgement of the younger white lupine. He spoke not as the creature of alabaster sheen began to act strange. The brute of midnight allowed himself to take in the form of the ghost becoming rigid, his actions strange and yet his father was all too strange himself. Perhaps it is a passed down trait, weirdness. A light rumble came tangled in his throat as he became irritated, not knowing what the hell it was this boy wanted.

Black pillars stood, balancing atop them a form of strength and power. He was about to show him just as irritated he was getting, a slight movement forward in the thick air when Vainglory saved his own skin with his words. His ears shot forward, touched with their hellish mark as Vainglory spoke of his son. Imprinting filled the air as immediately the red hairs on his neck flashed to the sky. Paws of giants steps forth as his sunset eyes drill into Vainglory, an spark of madness beginning to be fed.

"Who..."" he snarled, licking his fangs as he felt a boiling hotness in his own throat. ""Tell me WHO...Do not tell me it is Astaroth...No...Not Astaroth..." he growled, feeling the heat of his own heart pumping with increased speed. Astaroth was his prodigy, a creature most like himself in many ways. He was almost a mirror image, and in Andras' mind, he was on track to take the throne and continue the demon line. But for him to imprint upon a non-demon? He hoped to hell that it was Naberius or Nogitsune...sure, he did not wish such a thing upon his other sons, but Astaroth was a reflection of himself, and such a reflection deserves an imprint of Demon blood.