Azarion remained where he stood long after the flames had settled.
The hearth no longer answered him the way it once did. Fire had always responded to his moods—rising with his anger, raging with his will. Now it burned steadily, obedient but distant, as though even Ignarion itself waited to see what he would become next.
"Now thinking about it, it really seems like I've been looking at it the wrong way." Azarion said.
"I was wrong."
Aldric stiffened.
Azarion turned slowly, his expression grave in a way Aldric had rarely seen. There was no rage in his eyes now. No ambition blazing openly. Only something heavier...recognition.
Azarion did not look at him as he continued. "In my dealings concerning Aurelia. In my choices that I made. In the way I allowed prophecy to blind me."
Slowly, Aldric turned fully toward his father.
"Yes," he said after a moment. "You were."
Azarion flinched—barely. But Aldric saw it.
