Page 295 of Sky’s Edge

He’d earned his throne through might and slaughter, beings feared him…as it should be.

He was the power, thus he heard no words of enraged gods.

What he did hear were words of magic and more might.

And jewels.

And an island of bounty.

But he knew he had to be very careful. He had to plan. This was going to be his most formidable opponent yet.

And they could not be forewarned of his plans.

She was of his clan.

She was of his blood.

She was his brother’s daughter.

He struck her down where she sat at his feet.

He stepped over her corpse.

And he planned.

He built ships.

And he, himself, along with hundreds of his warriors, boarded to sail to the Isle of the Sacred.

He, himself, saw the mist shrouded island on the horizon.

He gloried to himself in what would be his victory, as he’d never tasted defeat.

He would claim the isle.

He would bind its inhabitants to his ambitions.

And then he would set about conquering the entirety of the blade of earth that rose north of his lands.

As they sailed, the storm came swift and unexpected.

The chieftain did not perish.

But he did witness the end of the Sisterhood of the Tribe, as naught but the gods could create the colossal swell of sea that rose up and swallowed the island completely.

As the tidal receded, gone was the mist.

Gone was the storm.

And gone was the island and all who called it home.

“Vid pause,” Tanyn called out.

“Figures,” I snapped. “Males.”

We were in a lounge watching a documentary on the screen about the Sisterhood of the Tribe.

It was the next evening.