Hatred had consumed Ives Ballard so thoroughly that reason no longer held sway over him. His son's death had left a wound so deep that neither time nor power could ever hope to mend it.
Where others in his shoes might have found despair or resignation, Ballard only found burning hatred that transformed into reckless obsession. The grief that had once threatened to break him had instead turned him into a single-minded and unrelenting person.
In that obsession, self-preservation became utterly meaningless. What value did life hold when the world had already robbed him of what mattered most?
But he never once stopped to ponder that everything that had happened to him and his family... was his own doing.
His son had already been murdered, and as for his family… if they hadn't died in the Battle of Ravenfell, then it was very likely that they might have been slain afterwards, once news of his betrayal of the city came to light. And chances were, it had.
