The final battle, when it came, was nothing like Sera expected.
There was no dramatic confrontation in a burning throne room. No speech about justice or revenge or the triumph of good over evil. No moment of triumph where the hero stands over the villain and declares victory for all to hear. Just a small room — clinical, cold, the walls the color of old bone — a man who'd called himself nothing, and twenty children who were finally, finally free.
She killed him quickly. Cleanly. The way he'd never killed anyone. Her blade found his heart with the precision of someone who'd done this too many times before, who understood exactly where to strike to end a life without suffering. His eyes widened for just a moment — surprise, perhaps, at finding himself mortal after all — and then went dark.
