. . with the citizens of the kingdom before me, waiting. It was not terror that I felt, nor rage. Pain, yes, but even that felt distant. Death is wisdom. In that cold moment when you know for certain that all is over, you understand the truth. And it is not fear you feel, but love and pity for those around you. The citizens, staring up at you on the Rock of State, their eyes wide as if afraid to look away for even the merest moment. The courtiers, uneasy, in spite of themselves, about what was going on. The queen, pretending (badly) to be asleep on the ledge overlooking the Rock. Swylar, never entirely present, always scheming the next move. Even the correctors, those poor lost souls. As they moved toward me, I smelled the sadness on them. Their only language was pain. Hurting others was how they felt alive. It was as I faced my death that I changed forever. I loved the kingdom. I loved the citizens. At my most helpless moment, I felt strong. — Efren. The revelation of Swylar was a sharp stab to the brain.
