Zar'roc. Firelight reflects off the red blade as it turns. Red like blood. Red like pain, anger, destruction. Misery. Sometimes it seems like that is all my life has become, a never ending series of battles, inflicting pain on others, enduring my own. Pushing it down. Ignoring it, fighting it but never, ever forgetting it. It is always there, always wearing me down. I am shackled. I am more of a prisoner than the poor souls in his deepest, darkest dungeon. At least they have freedom of their thoughts. I can do nothing on my own. I am trapped. If I think like this forever, I will go mad. I need to concentrate on the good things.

I have Thorn.

I have memories. Memories of better times… Better times? When were there better times? When I travelled with Eragon. When I had a friend who did not judge me or flatter me because of who I am. A young woman with dark skin and eyes that looked at me like I was a human being. A time –however brief- when I was accepted. Then he destroyed all that.

Do you ever feel this way? Do you see their faces, hear their screams? Do you see what you are? Will you ever understand how others see you? A monster, a horror, a traitor, a tyrant. Someone they obey out of fear, not loyalty. You delude yourself.

One day you will see. But then it will be too late, my King. Then you will die, stripped of everything.

We bide our time.

One day they will come.

One day we will kill you.