Marrick had spent days being treated like an object. He had been beaten, starved, and paraded around like a trophy. He had seen people beaten down because they were weak. He had watched Dross's warriors treat prisoners as nothing more than tools. He had learned exactly what happened to people who lost in this world. They were crushed. They were forgotten. They were discarded.
And then Darion appeared.
A man who had walked into Vrethka alone. A man who commanded an army of the undead. A man who killed Chief Dross. A man who could have killed Marrick's father himself without even thinking about it, yet offered a sincere apology when he thought his monsters had done the deed.
Marrick's respect for him skyrocketed.
He lifted his head slightly, looking up at the man who had destroyed his world. To Marrick, Darion wasn't simply a powerful noble anymore. He wasn't just a conqueror. He was something almost impossible to comprehend.
