They were nothing, they were nobodies. A pair of footsoldiers who had given up even their hopes of making it to Sergeant. They were fine with that now. Five years ago, they might have had more ambition, but now they knew their place, and there was contentment in that. They were happy to simply warm their hands by the fires of greatness, and to be a part of that grand vision that their General painted out of them. There was pride in that, but there was hardly recognition – they weren't the sorts of men that those of high rank would stop to stare at.
So why was it that such a man, so rich that he could wear jewels even on his banners, and so powerful that he could dare to call himself Emperor, spared such a degree of attention just for them? Why did he stare at them, terrifyingly, as if they were the only two men in the world, as if their suffering was his interest entirely.
