Byung stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, the bowl of his still-warm corrupted blood resting on the table beside him. The green liquid shimmered faintly under the torchlight, its oily surface catching the flames like something alive. He wiped the last traces of the cut from his forearm—already healed without a scar—and turned as Borkle came to check up on him once again, the goblin's footsteps heavy with purpose.
"Borkle," Byung said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of absolute command. He didn't ask. He didn't explain. Everyone simply obeyed.
"Go find Grigmor. The hybrid child—the one born of orc and goblin blood. Bring him to me immediately. I want him here tonight."
Borkle straightened, chest puffing with pride at being chosen for the task.
"Yes, My King. Right away. Should I tell him anything specific?"
Byung shook his head once. "No need. Just bring him. Tell him his leader requires his presence. That's all he needs to know."
