Senraki crossed the last of the outer damage with blood already soaking through his sleeve, and the man standing at the edge of the formation did not move to meet him.
He had pictured this moment through a hundred different roads, and none of them had prepared him for how ordinary his father looked standing in front of a war he had helped build.
'This is him,' Senraki thought, the words landing strange after years of chasing rumors instead of a face, 'this is the shape my whole life bent around.'
The general wore no crest and carried a plain sword whose guard had gone smooth from decades of use rather than ceremony.
"You followed a wound through half the continent," his father said, eyes narrow beneath the torchlight, "and now you expect the man who caused it to stand still for your judgment."
Senraki kept his stance loose despite the pain climbing his side.
