Darius felt as though the entire world had collapsed around him. And in truth, it had.
His mother, his father, his sisters, his brothers—every single person who had ever loved him was hanging right there in front of him, their lifeless bodies swaying gently in the morning breeze.
He couldn't even fathom why he should keep living.
After all, the only reason he'd been able to terrorize and pillage and destroy with impunity was because his family had always been behind him.
They'd backed him up no matter what, shielded him from consequences, made sure that the Valheim name was a shield he could hide behind.
He'd shouted that name everywhere he went like it was some kind of divine protection.
But now? Now he was the last one left.
The final thread of a once-mighty tapestry.
What was the point of shouting a name that meant nothing anymore?
What was the point of being a Valheim when there were no Valheims left to stand beside him?
