And now, he is alone. He is confused, unsure of what to do. Killers and schemers infiltrate his dreams every night, forcing him to overthink every move he ever makes. He sleeps with an ear and an eye open, patiently waiting for the sharp edge that he knows is coming. And while she wakes up each night, fearful of what he’s capable of… he lies awake each night, fearful of the same thing.

He intended to kill her the day he first met her, and now… now it was destiny falling away and justice taking its place. What justice awaited him? How long would he stay a coward, hiding behind a future that he would do anything to prevent?

The motel room door opened, yet he did not turn. Now is when they would come. They would know that he was without the blade, and The Eternal Circle would strike him down like the thief that he is. His entire life would be chronicled as a tale of a wayward warrior, overzealous in his attempt to emulate the past, another young boy who grew up to be a fool in love only to be stabbed in the back by greater men than him.

But the pain did not come. Instead, a small and cold hand touched his. He engulfed it in his own and turned to face her. Her eyes were still red from tears he had not seen fall. He kissed her forehead, hating himself. And she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek against his chest, more out of fear than love.

Let us leave this scene. Instead, let us drift on the winds of the dead. For we are bitter death, and we smile upon the destiny that awaits.