Iliyal went into Ilwin's room and sighed. How many descendants had he outlived now? There was too many to count, although he could remember all their names.
Ilwin woke up to a cell. A prison cell, he had been in a few before, this one did not stand out in any way. Tall grey walls, a single lamp on the ceiling. A toilet sequestered off by a low wall. A sink. The elf quickly patted his clothes, they had left him in his black suit, but his pockets had been emptied. The daggers were gone, the sword removed, all that remained was a small leather ring on his belt which should have held a sheathe.
He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. Cold blue eyes under blonde hair stared back at him. How did it go badly? Everything had been planned. They knew when the planes would be fuelled up. They… his mind went to that woman. She had to have been a Goddess.
