As painful as the memory was, Percival's unconscious forced him to go through them again yet again. His own death. He remembered the moment perfectly.
He remembered fire and ice burning his skin as he forced his sword into Liraeth's stomach. But her magic had weakened him enough for Aethelstan to land the killing blow.
That sound of steel rang in Percival's ears like a death call. He remembered the shock of the blade sliding through his chest.
The weight of the sword pushing deeper. He remembered how his lungs refused to draw breath as blood flooded them.
There was another sound of steel that rang in his ears. It was his own sword, the Kingdom Sword, falling to the ground.
Percival remembered looking down and seeing the hilt protruding from his own body. Then looking up at the person who held it.
Aethelstan. The same face that was right in front of him. Perhaps even the same expression.
