"I tried so hard to be… more," he said. "Bigger. Stronger. A legend."
"You tried to match a myth that wasn't even honest to begin with," she said. "You turned yourself into a story and then punished yourself for not fitting perfectly into it. Bodies revolt against that kind of cruelty."
His breath hitched.
He swallowed hard.
Lyan watched from the side, hands clenched at his own elbows.
He wanted to step in. To crack a joke. To cut the moment in half so it would hurt less.
He stayed where he was.
Cynthia ached with him.
(He is breaking in the right place,) she said
Griselda was quiet.
(He's a warrior too. Different battlefield. I recognize the look.)
The saintess reached out and, with two fingers, touched the water still cupped in Erich's hands.
Light moved through it. Not bright. Just a soft glow, like moonlight slipping under clouds.
The shadow of the word on the surface thinned until it was just water again.
