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One, two. I’m alive. Three, four. I’m safe. Five, six. I won’t let them catch me.
And so Jasad’s Heir suffered in the woods while the throne of magic sat empty in the newly scorched kingdom.
He folded back my collar.
We mourn what history mocks.
Loss was an anchor I would always drag behind me. If I stopped moving, if I let the anchor catch, I would never summon the strength to keep going. I was not kind. I did not choose right over wrong or my heart over my head. But I was tenacious. I was spiteful.
“Who did this to you?”
It was just. He remembered.
“I am only a man.”
