Golden Shackles

He took a few measured steps, then halted in the center of Azha to take in the old, familiar, depressing vista. A gust of wind pushed by, moaning like the last breath of a dying giant, and he caught the odors of ashes and shallow graves on the air.

"Mister," a child said beside him, "are you from the Empire?"

He gazed down at the little imp as she stared up at him. One look at the luminous, youthful eyes set in her skull-like head, and his hand was over his heart, fingers curling around the golden Imperial medallion, tearing.