The silence stretched, heavy as lead, until Jack finally forced the words out.
"How did you end up here?" His voice echoed through the cavernous throne room, a small defiance against the oppressive cold.
Ren's star-bright eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest sign of acknowledgment. "Straight to the heart of it," he said, voice a low rumble that resonated in Jack's chest. "I appreciate that."
The Patriarch, this ancient being who had summoned him, shifted on the black-silver throne. Frost cracked beneath his boots as he leaned forward, elbows on knees. The silver veins in the stone pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
"I was born in the Prosperity Kingdoms," Ren began. "Five realms bound by treaty and ambition. To them, I was a prophecy. A child blessed with power enough to turn the tide of every war. They named me hero before I could even lift a sword."
Jack listened, the low hum of the System faint in the back of his skull. Corvin tilted his head, violet eyes unblinking.
