So it was shocking to see a King's head on the floor, bleeding out, with a grim look on his bearded face. It was a fundamental wrongness, a questioning of something that those soldiers, and all those men that stood there, including Oliver, and even including Tavar, seemed to believe, at least to some implicit degree. A King was not a creature that could be struck down so casually.
"A Time of Tigers," Hod murmured to himself, as the only one with the capacity to offer up a degree of understanding. It was exactly as the prophecy had written. All that they knew would be turned upon its head. The very power structures that they considered to be immutable and mighty would be carved apart, as easily as an origami tower by a sharp blade.
It would be done as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if that was what ought to have happened.
