Any expectations he had for the moments thereafter simply burst when the boy spoke again, declaring his intentions to craft, to be one more engineer amidst their darkness and deception. A small sigh nearly left the Lord’s lungs at the notion, because he knew he couldn’t grant the child’s wishes – not yet, not until he’d become far older than he was now. But his piercing, puncturing stare grew rapt, widened, allured, by the sweeping, magical pursuits the youth concocted, bronze swirling along the air, shifting into gear formations, small towers (where they could’ve all watched, staring out over the plain for intruders, for strangers in their lands), into a figurine he should’ve recognized as himself. “Most impressive,” he stated, softening the nonchalant veneer into a small smile, etched on the corner of his lips, to ensure he meant what he’d proclaimed. The skills were magnificent, and the lad would be able of doing a great many things in his lifetime, for whomever and whatever he wished. He didn’t want to burn away those ambitions, those aspirations, so many had yet to achieve. He didn’t want the boy to be spurned and disappointed, refuted, broken and tossed off because he simply hadn’t lived long enough to hold a credible position. How many of their herd had half the drive, motivation, and resolve as this tusked scion? Gently, as much as the Reaper could be, he lowered his great crown and stared into the child’s features. “How old are you?”
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