He looked down at his hands. Hands that had slain things monstrous. Hands that had saved an empire. Hands that had allowed the last hope for his species to slip and shatter like glass upon the stone. The sky above was dark as sin. The horizon, red as his lady’s lips the last time he kissed her. He ran one thumb across his fingers, the letters inked below his knuckles. “Patience,” he whispered.
