Miles pours his younger self another glass. "No," he says, staring down at his own scar for a moment. Trying to remember the exact moment of his death is ... difficult, between the shock and the cryoamnesia and everything else. But he has a few fragments that will haunt him well enough. "I looked down and my chest had a hole in it. Then, nothing."

That had been the part that was truly terrifying: the suddenness of it all. He'd not even had a moment to choke out any last words or a warning. He was just dead, done. Everything burned up in an instant. Now he needs more mead, dammit. He tops off his own glass and takes a long, burning sip.