The weak must be perished. Is that how the world operates? Was that the law of the land? I hate to feel that I am weak but how would I supposed to get strong if I have nothing left? Nothing to hold on to? After the assassination, I was already enveloped by hatred. Hating the world. Hating myself. That circumstance changed my outlooks and beliefs. I taught myself not to trust someone easily. I learned to live like there is no one existed around me. I completely locked down myself. But could I face this alone knowing the danger that's still haunting me? Could I pushed away those people who are trying to get close on my chaotic and dangerous world? My name is Sam Herondale, and this is my story.