Nothing he knew of, enunciated life like death.
Valor was in Nikodemos, unquestionable, and commitment like trees to stand or night to fall.
Go carefully, child of mat, where no mercy can be had, and let your faith lead you on.
Wisdom, Niko thought as he leaned his cheek against his long-handled rake, cannot be had without price.
This fight coming is not a battle of weapons, but a battle of wills.
These Stepsons tread where mortals don't belong, some of us think. They seek out battle high above their station. Who knows what powers may yet take them and their mystic allies to task, bring them their comeuppance?