Ragh Zel stepped over the crumbling stone, Slepkava swaying as he walked. Blood dripped from the steel, and Ragh's grey eyes were locked on one thing. To say murder was in his eyes would be to demean the fury kept in check inside the prince. As he came to the top of the ruined staircase, he grabbed hold of Otral's white cloak, pulling the man up to his eye level.

"I'm done with you, Otral." He rumbled like thunder. While the commander kept his face still, his golden eyes belied true terror. Ragh flicked Slepkava, and the blade reverted to dagger form. He pushed it against the man he used to call his friend's throat. The gold eyes shifted to the dagger, and sweat beaded on his slate grey forehead. "I think that this time, I'll let you live." He continued. "But if you ever- ever- come near me again with Maneth's orders pushing you forwards, I'll slaughter you like a pig." He narrowed his eyes. "Understood?" He lifted a white eyebrow. Otral nodded a little, as much as he could spare to with Slepkava already drawing blood. Ragh sheathed the dagger in the holster at his hip, and he turned away.

"You're making a mistake, Ragh." Otral hacked. Ragh glanced back over his shoulder before turning altogether. He gestured to the ruins, hands outstretched. Blood covered his gloves, and more stained the leather vest strapped to his chest.

"Do you see this? This is Ntir. Not that city out there, where the mazak lived, where our people live now. This is our legacy, Otral. And Maneth lets it fall to ruin. In the countless hours I've spent with the man, he's not even bothered to step into these ruins to do more than retrieve his throne. Isn't that fitting?" He paused for a moment. Otral looked confused. "Our people are dying, Otral. They die now, and they died in the Deep. They'll die so long as Tagh Maneth, the King of Justice, sits of the Ebony Throne. He doesn't care, Otral. I fought for months, now more than a year, slaughtering the people I thought butchered our people and stole our empire. But they don't even know. They've forgotten us, Otral, and Maneth doesn't care. He thinks that if he's got his throne, if he's got his empire, then justice is done. But I don't think it's justice that we punish these people for their ancestors' crimes." He paused again, turning away and starting down the path to the gates of the city. "Think about that, Otral. I think I'll try to find more of our people who think like me. And if you think I'm right, then you can come find me. Only then." He turned towards the path again and started down the stairs.

Halfway down, he heard the distinctive chink of chain loops against one another, the sound of armor moving. He stopped, breathing in the dank smells of the old city. Was Otral moving to come with him, or to come kill him? The next sound was the hiss of steel against steel, the sound of Otral's steel sheath and his blades. Ragh clenched his jaw and gripped Slepkava tightly. He closed his eyes as the sound of Otral's boots echoed through the air, coming closer and closer as time seemed to slow. Ragh hummed the Song as he drew the blade, closing his eyes and lunging as Slepkava extended with a hiss and Otral barrelled closer.

Warm blood ran down the hilt, washing over his hands. Otral gagged as blood filled his throat, and the young man's corpse collapsed onto Ragh's shoulders. The Prince of Vengeance fell to his knees, cradling his friend's corpse as tears ran down his face. The man's eyes still shone gold.

"It didn't have to be like this, Otral." For a moment, everything was silent.

"Yes it did." The dying man moaned.