That night, Lumberling sat by a dying campfire under the open sky. The wind tugged at the edges of his cloak. Skitz had already turned in, trusting his Lord to keep watch.
But Lumberling wasn't watching for enemies.
He was watching the stars, trying to count the distance between himself and the sky he had to reach.
He held a stone in his palm, smooth and warm from his pocket. The one Jen gave him. A child's gift. A symbol of hope.
'True Knighthood…' That's the answer.
His jaw clenched. 'But how long will it take?'
He had built a village. Raised an army. Fought monsters, killers, Knights. And still, it felt like the hardest fight lay not on the battlefield, but within.
He thought of the dream again. The feeling of losing control. The way his spear had nearly pierced Skitz's throat.
A chill crawled through his chest.
'What if I lose myself before I ever reach it?'
His grip tightened around the stone.
