Gabriel didn't move.
The old Emperor's words seemed to echo in a chamber far larger than this one, brushing against the invisible seams of the shard itself. He felt them in his pulse, in the fine hairs along his arms lifting, in the taste of copper and ozone at the back of his throat.
Freedom.
Gabriel's gaze sharpened, studying the man before him. He saw now the subtle signs he had missed in childhood, how Goliath's mind had never been broken, only contained. The nobles had called him a husk, and Olivier had paraded him as a puppet, but here… in the splintered ether of this manufactured world, he stood with the stillness of a blade waiting to be drawn.
The emperor stepped closer to Gabriel and patted his shoulder like a proud father. "You chose the next emperor well. I'm proud of you."
Gabriel felt the weight of that hand settle on his shoulder, steady and warm despite the tremor in Goliath's fingers.
