Unlike the towering brutes that came from his tribe ,Torghan was, in truth, still in the shadow of what he might one day become. His frame held the promise of size rather than its full delivery: strong, certainly, but lacking the mountainous bulk for which his kin were known.
He was after all but 19.
In height he stood below most of his tribesmen, and though his posture was proud, it bore the unmistakable signs of youth—not the reckless youth of inexperience, but the unfinished kind, like a statue only half-carved from stone.
Yet what Torghan lacked in brute mass, he made up for in terrifying efficiency. Most of his kills on the battlefield hadn't been earned through sheer force or feral power, but rather through a simple, practical truth: his armor was leagues ahead of what the average rebel could pierce.
