Open Fields of Grace

Kalt I say goodbye to my weakness, So long to the regret, and now I see the world through diamond eyes.     Well, this was...unexpected. Kalt had half expected Bastien to hear the truth and suddenly make up some poorly constructed excuse about having to leave. But no. Instead, the other man was actually interested in the dark, violent life of the assassin known as Silver Wing. For a moment, Kalt wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed. The last time he had spoken to anyone about what he had done, it had been in the king’s dungeon with a knife being dragged over his body. It really had been a sorry excuse for torture... He could have done a better job on himself than the king’s men did, but hey, being an assassin paid better.     For once since he had gotten to this world, Kalt’s mind became completely stimulated...shocking that it was himself as the topic to accomplish it. His absent guitar picking stopped, and he leaned forward over the instrument with a gleam in his eyes. ”Oh, you bet your ass I have stories,” he said, grinning at the man. ”I didn’t kill a king, but certainly many people of high status. There was one time I killed the queen’s best friend right in the castle while everyone slept. That was a hell of an escape story.” He thought for a moment, taking a sharp inhale through his nose. ”I did kill a foreign prince once. It was actually his younger brother who order the contract. Jealousy thing, wanted the crown for himself. I was fifteen when I did that one. The people knew me as Silver Wing.” He grinned at the memory.     There was very little remorse in him for the lives he had taken. Guilt was taken from him when he was a child, and he learned how to deal with death rather quickly. ”Being an assassin isn’t all fun badassery, though. There’s a shitload of training and pain that goes into it. I’ve got scars all over me from my life in the Guild. It’s intense, but I wouldn’t have traded it for anything.” He wasn’t entirely sure that was true sometimes, but his scars were the stitches that held the man together, made him who he was. That much he knew he wouldn’t trade.     He narrowed his eyes analytically at the other man, as he once again picked at his guitar strings. ”You aren’t afraid?” He asked curiously. ”When a man admits living a life of trained killing, it isn’t common someone sticks around long enough to ask for stories!”