That had been only a hundred years ago—not long before he’d finally rejected the name Aarkein Devaed, realized his mistakes, and started along the path that had ultimately led here. He knew he’d hated what he’d done, hated what he’d become as Devaed, but he couldn’t remember the details anymore. Odd, but he supposed it didn’t really matter now. He would be free of it all for good soon enough. He finally turned away from the corpses, knowing he had only minutes left—nowhere near enough time to hide the bodies. He needed to flee, to get as far from here as he possibly could.
