The firelight danced across Thunorric’s scarred face as the storm rumbled beyond the inn walls.
“Your father,” he said quietly, “is a man who’s made deals with the dark to save everyone in this room.”
Once, he had been a son, an exile, a gladiator Lupus, they had called him.
Now, he was something else.
A man hunted by the law and the storm alike.
“Better an outlaw with a conscience,” he said with a smirk, “than a soldier with none.”