He had seen it with his own two eyes, yet his mind struggled to make sense of it.
For twenty-one years, Latio's world had been defined by the gilded cage of the Palace of Vinnacovi. And those few times where he left , were but voyages that were short, sterile, and suffocatingly protected by a wall of steel plate and royal protocol.
He had to beg his father for weeks to allow him to lead an expedition against some bandits that had made a den in the mountains. It was , as he had expected and told his father numerous times, an easy thing.
The bandits broke easy enough when the horn came and the Latio charged alongside his retinue on foot. There he had got his first kill, swinging his sword faster than a bandit could raise his to guard himself. The blade nicked at the men's throat deep enough for a streak of blood to splatter upon his face.
It was sticky and warm, and yet he felt proud of it.
That had been his first kill, and also his only taste of danger.
