The night air was thick with the lingering smell of smoke and sweat as Lhum'Baggar hurried through the dimly lit pathways of the Dreadmaw Clan's encampment.
His heart raced with excitement, with a wide grin splitting his rough, scarred scary face.
He had done it—he had mutated his Grum-gar form into the third phase.
The power still coursed through him, his muscles thrumming with the memory of that transformation.
All he wanted now was to share the news with his wife, to see the pride in her eyes when she heard.
As he neared the familiar outline of their tent, a voice suddenly cut through the night, freezing him in his tracks.
"Older Brother…"
The voice was familiar, too familiar. Lhum'Baggar's grin faltered, his body stiffening as recognition washed over him.
He knew that voice all too well, and with it came memories—bitter, frustrating memories.
