Lugh's chest burned. He wasn't sure why, but it did. The accolades, the medals, the applause—all of it did nothing to quell the frustration rising in his gut.
It was… confusing. Even to him.
With the number of lives he'd lived, the emotions he'd been forced to endure, he should've been completely indifferent by now. And yet, he wasn't.
It was strange, really. Isolde flashed through his mind like a flicker of light behind closed eyes. He would get his answers today, not tomorrow.
If she was unwilling to talk, then he wouldn't hesitate to use force. Even if it meant crossing Selaphiel, the elf… his grandmother.
While Lugh's inner turmoil brewed, the atmosphere outside simmered with tension.
They should have expected it. But they didn't.
Lovainne had claimed the boy joined his division in the Siege of Drakensmar as a sergeant. Everyone expected a hardened young man, or at the very least, someone in his early twenties. What they got was something else entirely.
