Chapter Content
Long ago, soldiers told a story about a man who called himself a prophet. They even wrote books about the man.
In one of these stories, he and his companions had come down from a successful raid tired and half-drunk on victory. Their hands still smelled of smoke. Their pockets were heavy. Slaves had been taken. Loot had been counted. The day had been good, in the way that days are "good" when men stop measuring goodness by mercy.
They made camp. They laughed. They sat around a fire and began to eat like men who believed the world belonged to them.
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