It was the golden hair he spotted first. Before the mound of Valg he’d piled high. The gate he’d shut for them. The city he’d secured. A terrible, rushing sort of stillness took over Aedion’s body. He stopped hearing the battle. Stopped seeing the fighting around him, above him. Stopped seeing everything but the fallen warrior, who gazed toward the darkening sky with sightless eyes. His tattooed throat ripped out. His sword still gripped in his hand. Gavriel. His father.
Dammit Kyle.. this is your fault.
