It was a lesson that could not be taught in the sun-drenched libraries of Vinnacovi. All the years of studying scrolls, of making the right connections, of preparing for a seat at the high table of power, it all dissolved into the mud of the Zauern for what they were in front of a storm, nothing but dust.
There is a specific kind of horror in realizing you are not smart enough to stop your own death.
But beneath the terror, there was a cold, clinical surprise at how easy it had been.
This did not feel like a momentary lapse in judgment or a failed charge. It didn't feel like a mistake at all. It felt inevitable, as if they were merely the final threads in a cloth a Weaver had been looming for months. The trap hadn't just been set; it had been grown, nurtured by their own arrogance, until the snare was thick enough to hold him.
And somehow....it didn't feel like it was their fault, as if they were destined to fall there.As if it were written up in the stars.
