As I watched the swordsman, the mist swirled and showed me scenes I had no right to see:

Ivy, moss, and crumbling stone signify that time conquers all empires.

What is it to be a swordsman without a war? Without a lord, without a cause, without even an enemy left standing?

I asked him what he missed.

Just bow your head. Acknowledge the vigil.

Rows of nobles frozen in stone, their faces contorted in a terror that has lasted three centuries.