The announcer’s voice rang with reverence.
“Sir Sylvester! The youngest commander in Prescott’s history! A war hero! A man who had fought numerous battles.”
Gasps filled the room.
Nathaniel’s lips curled into a smirk.
The warrior of Prescott…?
He knew what that meant.
The tables were about to turn.
Boots clanked against the marble floor as a tall, imposing figure strode in.
Sir Sylvester.
His uniform was crisp, his medals gleamed under the light.
Solders marched behind him as he walked.
Power radiated from his every step.
Thomas’s breath caught.
“It’s… It’s really Mr. Sylvester!” he choked out.
But as everyone tensed, Lance simply crossed his arms.
Unmoved. Unimpressed.
Nathaniel’s smirk widened.
He turned toward Lance, his voice dripping with glee.
“Well, well… Look at
