Ilo

Ilo surveyed the battlefield, strewn with the bodies of fallen warriors from both sides of the conflict. The mirror-like surface of the ground reflected the cruelty of the battle. Though victory was near, he felt only exhaustion. How many more must die by his blade before this endless cycle of violence would end? How much longer did he have to hear the grim song of the blades clashing against each other? Then his eyes fell upon a figure in the distance, cutting down opponents with unmatched skill. Perhaps this one could deliver the release Ilo sought.

With slow steps, Ilo approached the warrior. Though bloodied and breathing heavily from the effort of battle, this stranger showed no signs of tiring. As their eyes met, his hand gripped his sword, Rue Weaver, firmly but Ilo didn't raise it to attack. Instead, he lodged it into the ground and then spoke quietly. "Your arm has ended many lives this day. I ask only that you end one more."

He sank to his knees beside his blade, bowing his head in submission. Years of battle had taught him to read an opponent's skill. This one could defeat him. At last, the death he craved was within reach. Ilo continued. "Take my life with honor, as one warrior to another. I have grown tired of this endless cycle of violence. Grant me the peace I can find no other way." It was the most he had spoken in a long time. His words spoke of a deep regret and sorrow that he thought could only end in one way.