Rexerd's severed head hit the floor and rolled twice before coming to a stop.
His eyes were still wide — frozen in disbelief.
His face was locked in a twisted blend of rage and despair, as if he couldn't decide whether to hate me or cry over the sudden end of his life.
For a moment, everything went still.
It wasn't peace. It wasn't relief.
It was just stillness.
The kind of stillness that lingers after something loud quiets too quickly, leaving silence behind to fill the space.
I stared down at the twitching corpse at my feet, blood leaking from what remained of his neck in rhythmic spurts.
The crimson puddle beneath him spread quickly, pooling around his limp arms.
I gripped my sword tightly and didn't speak at first.
Then, almost under my breath, I muttered, "Waste of potential."
Not that I meant it as a eulogy. It was just… a fact.
I wasn't mourning him. That kind of reaction was too expensive for someone like Rexerd.
