Panic crashed down on him like a wave. Drowning, his arms shaking, he wanted to scream. He fought against the current. He could still succeed. Guards ran to the stricken king's side. Jahn reached into his quiver, shakily drew another arrow. His breath ripping his lungs apart, he produced the vial of poison from his pocket. He unscrewed the bottle. His arms shivering, he applied the poison to the arrow. He felt a sharp pain in his hand. Looked down, slowly. Strange calm filled him. He saw what he had done. Saw the cut on his hand, where he had nicked himself with the sharp point of the arrow. The vial of poison fell from his limp fingers. It made a sharp crash as it smashed on the ground. His body thudded down after it. As the poison slowed his blood in his veins, he had what seemed like an eternity to reflect. He had failed. His one chance, and he had let mere panic stop him. He had been so close to greatness… Now he was just as insignificant as everyone else. He had made no impact on the world around him. Just another human, just a single swirling mote amidst the grand plan of things. He was nothing. He was nothing.
