Kalortah flew with a purpose, with determination, and with a very sharp sword.
He carried with him the resolve that had eluded him through his thirty something arcs. In all his life, he'd been searching for something to hold up in value. For the longest time all he had loyalty toward was himself, and that of his own kind who he once saw as reflecting his own glory. Now, he saw the truth of it. Delroth was right about the Avriel. They were a fallen people, desolate and savage. He would not remember when they'd persecuted the Unfeathered. Hiding them in dark caves, and then killing them by the hundreds, trying to purge the plague that had befallen them. He would not forgive that, and he swore if he ever saw another show of such blithe disregard for something he had valued, he would make them pay with a vengeance.
This aukari was just such a one, speaking with such imperious nonsensical nonsequiturs. He couldn't handle the truth? What was that even about? Probably some ploy to distract, so Kalortah discarded it as nonsense babble that it was.
As he struck the man's arm, grazing it and his blade extending past the point, he drew it backward, buffeting his wings to send himself pedaling backward while also drawing the blade against his arm further.
The aukari wreathed himself in flames, and asked about an artifact. But Kalortah had no time to talk. Instead, he thrust again and again at the man, defending when he could, but seeking always to deliver a fatal blow. Life was nothing without something to aspire to. And the Storied Gold within that vault, the Golden Flock, and the creatures... Those were of value. The Avriel's greed called him to their defense, as he declared this place to be a Nest, unassailable by any who meant to do harm.
Yet if that didn't work, he would continue to fight, until the opponents before him were dead, or he himself met his end.
