Fuel to the Flame

Ludovic’s ears perked, absorbing every ounce of his father’s command as if it were a tangible force. Hell, it could have been with the tone he was using. That rigid cadence to Aresenn’s words, one that scraped against any lingering resistance, challenging each of them to heed or fall behind. His father’s description of their formation painted vivid images in Ludovic’s mind—a calculated image of precision, piece after piece. He felt a heat rise at his nape. Perhaps indignation, or shame for being less than what he could have been.

He felt his muscles tense slightly, not from nerves but anticipation. This wasn’t just instruction; it was a call to arms. He imagined the rush of a unified strike, surging through any defense in perfect sync. The thought stirred his blood, he wondered how it could look in play.

As Aresenn continued, a low hum of energy swelled within Ludovic. His gaze flickered toward the boulders, then to his packmates and siblings, his mind already whirring with strategies, imagining where his own strengths would serve best. Of course Xina stepped up first for the spearhead—she was a cone head after all. A faint smirk crept onto his face; he would step forward, ready to embody the rear guard with his quick observations. “I’ll be the eyes.” He knew he could do it.

"Ludovic Praetor-Inferos"