Here is the chapter, fully fleshed out to capture the tragedy and horror of the memory.
[Memory Playback Continues: The Day of Betrayal]
The ravine was narrow, a jagged scar in the earth that Joseph—the man the world knew as Jacob—had chosen for its cover. He was leading a small, elite convoy back to the sanctuary. The war had been long, and though the gods were retreating, he knew better than to let his guard down.
"We are almost there," Yaho whispered, walking beside him. She wiped sweat from her forehead, her hand brushing against his arm. "Once we get back, you need to sleep. Real sleep. Not that meditation thing you do."
Joseph smiled, a rare, genuine expression that softened the hard lines of his war-torn face. "I'll sleep when the world is safe for you, Yaho."
It was a promise.
And it was the last promise he would ever make.
Swoosh.
There was no sound of a bowstring. No chant of magic. Just the sudden, wet sound of metal shearing through meat.
Joseph stopped.
