Later that afternoon, Lumberling approached the training yard where the soldiers were drilling with spears. A sharp whistle pierced the air—Vakk's voice, calling out commands. His stance was tight, precise. Focused.
But Lumberling noticed how Vakk's eyes drifted toward Skarn—now a hulking berserker—who was overseeing a group of boar cavalry nearby. The envy was subtle, buried beneath discipline, but it was there. A flicker. A hunger.
Lumberling crossed his arms and watched. 'He doesn't say a word, doesn't complain. But I see it. That fire… I've seen it before.'
'There was this junior engineer in my old life. Always overlooked, but he stayed late, asked questions no one else cared about. Ended up running his own firm ten years later.'
'Vakk reminds me of him.'
By nightfall, a knock came at his door.
"Come in."
Vakk entered, standing stiffly in the doorway. "Good evening, my Lord. Is there something you require of me?"
