In his old life, Aunamee was never called a madman. At his worst, he was a crook, a dangerous youth, a force to be reckoned with. When people fell before his blade, they poured out apologies and repentance faster than they poured out blood. When he faltered, no one was watching, and when he proved victorious, the sirens in the air sung his praises.

But now everyone is watching, and a ball and chain rests around his ankle, dragging him down to the earth. People have seen him on the verge of death. People have seen him tear out chunks of his own hair.

"No," he says, and his jaw is so tense that the word comes out softer than he meant it to. The muscles in his neck twitch and give like a snake. "Not a madman. A visionary."