Rage filled Marion’s chest, beating in their ribcage, stronger than wine and louder than their heart. A war drum, monument to all of the knight’s fury. It was better than fear, better than dread. Agis’ head would be severed from his shoulders and mounted on a pike. There had been no war that the elf had seen, no man fool enough to try, but something in their soul begged them to win.

This was a war, or at least the start of one. To cut the head off or carve out the heart was an ...