Scion's expression, though previously tense, had changed as the interview proceeded. Now, the nervousness or slight, veiled desperation that had hidden itself behind the boarded up windows of his emerald eyes and been locked tightly away in his iron-vault of a psyche had faded into something that could be described only as a tired sense of inevitability. No matter what these wolves chose, at this point it was out of his hands. He sold himself to be a plaything to these wolves, a weary, broken marionette to dance as they saw fit for him to dance. The loss of freedom was liberating for his taxed mind, which had fled from and now fled toward the blessed irresponsibility of slavery. He was clearly incapable of making his own choices, and would therefore remedy his wretched parody of freedom by becoming the vehicle of another's will once more. At the very least, or so he privately thought, these two magnificent beasts seemed, at least externally, to be much kinder than his previous masters, and most certainly had upwards of twenty IQ points on the alpha of Scion's own personal hell.

Despite the sense that the scenario that would play out in the next few minutes was out of his hands, the muscled soldier still regarded his two superiors carefully, attentively scanning their body language and facial expressions to determine whether he had done well or poorly in his reply. He was aware that he was currently playing the most important and dangerous part of the game. He did not know what to expect from these powerful creatures, and needed to learn fast if he was to become useful to them. It was of utmost importance to watch the everything carefully, as he needed to be able to infer satisfaction or dissatisfaction instantly and correct his behaviour within moments to respond to his inferences.

His inferencing capability was the cause of this new stance that had replaced his cringing body language. Scion's muscles, previously tense, had been forcibly relaxed to a normal state. His shoulders slowly retracted from their tightly hunched state. The bony wolf, now more at ease, seemed to the outside observer to be becoming more accustomed to the presence of these two and less nervous of what they might do. This was valid to a point, for he no longer was concerned that he would be murdered at any moment and more concerned that he may be turned away should be displease the obsidian lord and his ivory second. His guarded eyes roved hesitantly, hyper vigilant as they observed and analyzed each miniscule and insignificant movement and change in the wolves before him.

The alpha was not staring directly at Scion. This was strange, but the wraith did not question the actions of the jetty toned king, perceiving that perhaps the benevolent creature in front of him did not want to cause his potential new subordinate to be nervous. The grey brujo could not readily discern the reason for this, but took in stride gratefully nonetheless, as he did the next actions of the regal. It is not his place to judge or to formulate opinions. It is his job to accept everything and question nothing. Darcia is distracted, that much is evident, and the object of his attention seems to be his snowy friend. Despite this slight preoccupation, the lord is polite and quite attentive. Scion, who is used to being ignored when others have more important things on their minds, wonders briefly at this. After the iron-hued boy had spoken, the dark auditives of the tzar had twitched. Scion interpreted this as a good sign, meaning that the king was putting some minimal effort into remembering the title.

After Scion had announced his dubbance, the warlord had spoken once more, asking what seemed to be an important and standard question. The question itself takes him by surprise. His expression turns mildly introspective for a moment as he attempts to put the nameless, clawing desperation that ravages into his chest into words and then tries to decide how much to say about his past. He can't lie to the imperial beast, but at the same time he cannot possibly disclose all of the information without being cast away.

His internal struggle was interrupted by the actions of the chalk-hued male, who, after nodding to Scion to indicate that he would also like answers, gracefully and sinuously strode across the border. At first, the servile being froze, wondering what trickery was afoot, but he instantly forced himself into neutrality as the ranked canine did no more than to stand beside him rather than across from him. Scion regarded the hessian evenly for a moment, then listened to his speech. The words were joking, but it was safest to reply as if they had been serious, which was what the average coated draco did.

“I would not presume to be so forward, sir.”

The building tension that had been momentarily halted by the knight's interlude now returned in full force. Scion breathed deeply once, then glanced up, shuttered eyes of vibrant green appearing more vulnerable than before. He squared himself unconsciously, dedicating himself to his choice answer, and spoke, his voice low, but not timid.

“Atonement.”

He hopes that the single word is ample for now, but he is the vassal of these creature unless they wish to discard of him, and therefore willing to elaborate if they wish for further information on the nature of his sin. Scion is many things, but he is not a liar or one to throw himself into anything with less than 100% effort.