Tharion's blade quivered—not from frailty, but from the storm boiling within him, begging to erupt. His lips parted, a breathless whisper forming, yet no words made it past the lump wedged in his throat. All around them, the camp stood frozen, caught in a collective silence so tense it could've cracked the sky itself.
Even Valemir, the ever-cold tactician, now bore the faintest flicker of disbelief in his typically unshakable gaze.
"…Her child?" Tharion finally croaked, the flame on his blade dimming like a dying star. "You lie. She had no child."
Galen's voice came cold as obsidian. "Really, old man? Of all the things I am—and I'll admit I'm a lot—do you really think 'liar' makes the list?"
Without glancing away, Galen extended a finger toward Liam's tent. "That boy in there… he's Serah's son. Your daughter's son."
The words detonated like a thunderclap through the camp.
Magnus blinked hard. "Hold the hell up. What?"
Mystica's eyes blew wide. "Liam… Serah's…?"
