He watched, waited, and listened, intrigued by the child who tried to stand like a King, like a warlord, like a powerful beast, ignorant to the dangers of such a stance, the responsibilities of such a posture. The boy’s words were a little muddled by his tusks, but the notion was still unmistakable – he’d been hunting for him, down in the ferocity and fury of the Basin, listlessly standing amidst the valley until he happened by. He’d known very few children, save for his own, that ever sought him out – he’d been dangerous and unattainable, the shadow on the horizon of their kingdom, only summoned by necessity, perhaps on a dare, seeing who could stand in his presence the longest without fleeing, without staring. Whoever was the victor tended to keep it to themselves, a small token trophy, gilded and gleaming, in their minds. However, he still admired the lad’s forbearance: he didn’t flinch, he didn’t shy, he didn’t run off into the hills, or call for his mother. There’d be strength and fortitude in him yet, solid, staunch, and stalwart in the midst of all the ice and snow (if he stayed, if he didn’t stray like so many of the others had).
 
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?”

Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.