If anything, she wondered why she had not expected it sooner. He was a ball of magic, a creature of the purest sort. A boy with white hair that she occasionally dreamed about. If his life had been a happy thing, he would have done remarkably well, no matter where he was placed.
But the world had seen him cut, and harmed beyond measure. That same boy, special as he was, had suffered to such a degree that even Claudia loved him. That same boy had been given reason to fight – a terrifying thing to behold.
How could he be as fragile as the boy that Nila held before her, as still capable of changing the fate of a country, seemingly by accident, on a whim, if the story was as Verdant and Blackthorn told her?
He was hardly one person, but several. A great swirling mass of different things. She saw through him, and he saw through her.
"Nila," he said, as she held him. "Promise me you won't disappear."
