[RE] the bleak

It was too late - far too late, and Ronin felt the truth of that through more than just the lens of Roana’s imminent death. So much he had not been in time for, had not been in a fit state for, had not even been alive for. This was yet another weight to add to what he carried, and he gazed sadly at the woman he had called a good friend, who had run for General of the Storm alongside him (and they had laughed about it afterwards, back when things had seemed easy and carefree). Nothing was easy now. Ronin heard the words, the I love you, the plea to take care of her children, the guildmaster swallowing the lead in his throat and taking a long, deep breath tainted with the stink of blood and viscera. ”You will never have died for nothing,” he told her firmly, taking her hand, the rings, squeezing it gently between his own. Then he released her, reaching back to unsling Emmett’s axe from its holster on his shoulder (he’d grabbed it at the first sign of a ruckus), his face stony. Locking eyes with Remi - to give him strength more than anything, Ronin held the weapon aloft. ”Could you make wood for a bonfire?” He asked, nodding outside. ”Among the luxere. Where it’s safest.” Turning back to Roana, an eerie calm seemed to fall over the Fallen Star. ”Goodnight, Roana. Your story will live on in your sons - I promise you that.” He clenched his jaw, hesitating perhaps for only a moment, before bringing the axe down upon her throat. A quicker and more painless death than burning - but the fire would take care of the rest, he prayed. RONIN Darkness is a funny thing. It creeps up on you.