Julian swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs. Despite everything, he understood that rage. It was not pointless.
"They fight among themselves, these so-called gods," the Patriarch continued, his words now laced with venom and sorrow.
"The three hypocrites, drunk with power, clawing at each other for the upper hand. The guardian families, pathetic lapdogs, bending their knees to whichever tyrant might rise. And the Overseer of Fate—ha! However mighty he pretends to be, he too is a prisoner, bound by the very fate he oversees. He too longs to be free, to seize absolute control over his destiny."
His burning eyes turned back toward Julian with laser focus, and Julian felt as though his soul was being weighed on a scale.
"So tell me," he said. "If they can fight for their selfish dreams… why can I not fight for mine? Why must I bow my head? Why must I accept a system designed only to enslave me?"
