Before he could finish, Zara cut him off with the casual impatience of someone who spoke only to provoke clarity. "Let's ignore that for a second. Tell me this.. let's say you die right now. Everything ends. Would you be satisfied with what you have accomplished in your life? All the years you've lived ..would you be satisfied?"
The question landed like a stone; it hit a part of him that was too often kept neatly bandaged. For the first time since he had spoken of fate and defiance, Razeal had to stop. Her question was not about anger or plans or who owed what to whom. It was about a single, terrible metric: true satisfaction.
He closed his mouth. Whatever reply he had rehearsed the lines about taking what was his, the vows about ripping fate apart evaporated. That simple, merciless question demanded more than an argument. It demanded an inventory of a life. Razeal felt the air around him narrow
