Death’s Arrow

It was a week ago that he had stood over the body of a dead prince as Zahaynei removed the arrow from his chest.

"Here," the Captain of the King's armies had said as he handed him the bloodied arrow, "for your troubles."

He had even been congratulated by the King himself and received honors. Still, something was wrong. It wasn't something that he had ever felt proud or happy about. Just... different.

For the past week, whenever it was night and he was in his chambers, he would sit up on his bed and twist the arrow in his fingers as he considered things.

It was strange to watch a man die. Caliphus had been so very much alive until he wasn't. The image had haunted him. He hadn't ever killed someone before that. He hadn't even harmed someone before that.