“Yes… she killed them all! I’ll see you flung from the Skies, Amon…”

“I don’t take your orders, kid…”

Amon shut her eyes, grabbing the back of her head and rocking to and fro. The more she moved, the better chance she had of knocking the thoughts right out of her mind. Indeed, it was a type of magic that had not yet been discovered. Surely.

The gentle thud of leather boots against the cold, wet cobblestone of the prison floors was not lost on her keen ears, but she hoped it was just another patrolling guard. Amon did not know how much longer she could handle their jeers and taunts, of the promises they made to her name in honor of those lost.

Whether or not she had done it, no one seemed to care.

Looking down at her were a pair of eyes as deep and expansive as the Void itself—the realm where everything began and where everything found its end.

The Overseer of that realm stood before her as casually as a man awaiting a bus.

A low chuckled echoed through the air, raising the hair on the back of her neck as he knelt before her.

“My dear Amon, what a sad hand Fate has dealt you… The coveted and beloved Crown Prince is dead, days before he takes the throne. The entire Valkyr force is decimated, just when the Shadowfaen return in full force. The Wanderers have fled the Skies, refusing to offer the least bit of aid… and everyone has deemed it your fault. But we both know what really happened, don’t we?”

Amon grit her teeth as she remembered the Prince’s soulless eyes staring up at her, at the captain’s final plea…

“You don’t want to end your life to the sound of idiots cheering as you’re flung into the abyss below, do you?”

Amon shook her head.