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The air ripples as the man slips out of the ship

“Lysander,” Seneca taunts “There’s nowhere to run Will the Heir of Silenius die in a rat hole? Have dignity in the end; your ancient blood demands it” The thin-bloods chuckle to one another

I spotted seven of them, all in fresh pulseAr? Or will I die with dignity? As I stand, my feet disturb the spilled munitions on the floor, and I sense a fresh variable

Seven Peerless Scarred stand in the darkness as I ee barefoot

Their predatory Iron Leopard war helmets watch with no human emotion As if my left arm were broken, I cradle the internal payload of a firebrand

I need those helmets off

“Ajax couldn’t even take out his own trash,” I ed “How admirable”

Seneca chuckles “He would, but Atalantia has hirief at the death of precious Lysander Shall we formalize it?”

Seven razors unfurl Mine remains on my hip

“What did he promise you, Seneca?”

“A torchShip each,” one of the Golds says

“That’s the price of my life?”

“Draw your iron, boy Ajax made me promise you’d die well”

“Does any man die well if he cannot look his killer in the eye?” I peer around at the gries of the battered warhelms “Which of you will it be? Which of you will kill the last Heir of Silenius? Don’t you want ?”

Oh do I know my people