"...He's dead?"
The words came out of King Darius's mouth more like a sigh than a question. He rubbed at his temples, his heavy crown weighing down like iron. For all the wars he had fought, for all the monsters he had slain, this—this constant parade of incompetence and betrayal from his own people—was the thing that gave him headaches.
The guard kneeling at his feet swallowed hard. His armor clanked as his shoulders shook. "Y-Yes, Your Majesty. Hans… Hans has been slain."
The king's eyes flicked up, sharp as a hawk's. "Slain how?"
The guard licked his lips. "We… we were struck down first, sire. By something unseen. An invisible enemy. Our weapons were useless—we didn't even see what hit us. When we woke, Hans was…" He hesitated, trembling, then forced the words out. "His head was gone, Your Majesty. Taken clean off. One strike."
"one strike?," the king muttered, lowering his hand and glaring down at the trembling man. "But you were spared… but Hans was not."
