The man stood over Avin, his shadow swallowing him whole.
That same wicked grin crawled back across his bloodstained face as he tilted his head, the crimson of his eyes reflecting against the edge of his sword.
"Do you want to give it to me," he said softly, "or do you want me to take it off your corpse?"
Avin's heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
He could feel the sharp kiss of cold steel digging into the hollow of his throat — just deep enough to draw a single line of blood. A droplet slid down the blade and fell onto his collar.
The man's smile widened. "No answer?"
He sighed mockingly, as though disappointed. "Then I'll take that as permission."
He lifted the sword high, its point catching the sunlight that trickled through the forest canopy — for an instant, the blade glimmered like a divine thing, a weapon of finality.
Avin's eyes shut tight. His fingers trembled around his sword hilt.