A short story by Zach—
His eyes shone forth like two brilliant sparks in a wildfire of contorted fury. They split through the air like javelins, not stopping to rest at the man’s heart, but continuing forth to strike him in the soul. The king commanded him to rise, but in a voice so barely constrained and edged with a mirthless rage so powerful that it smote the man back down to the earth, to lie in a quavering heap at the footstool of the throne. The man’s name was Roan. Read the whole story here.