The night before my final battle, the air was still. I sat in my tent and wrote a letter to Indra. I knew the court had already made their deal. I knew that I was being sent into a trap to clear the way for Hikumbus's "New Order."
"Indra," I wrote, "do not mourn the shield. When it shatters, do not look for the pieces. Look for the hand that held it. You will find that you have grown stronger in the shadow of its protection. They will take your eye. They will take your arm. They will try to take your soul. But they can never take your defiance. That is the only thing we truly own."
I gave the letter to a scout and told him to ride until his horse collapsed. I never found out if Indra received it. I didn't need to. I knew that the boy I raised would hear my voice in the wind and feel my hand in the weight of his spear. My life was no longer my own; it was a foundation for the man who would eventually burn the sky.