Doubt, resentment, or perhaps numbness and confusion.
In the prolonged silence of death, Salahuddin's expression changed, his hands trembled, barely able to hold the box in his hands.
Lips opened and closed, yet no sound emerged.
When he wanted to roar in anger, he found he no longer had the strength.
It was as if his bones were removed.
Too much suffering, too much despair...
The elder knelt on the ground, extended his hand, and dug out his own heart, amidst the sandy flesh, that dull gray iron heart.
"Holy Fool, if this is my sin, then punish me absolutely, in whatever way you see fit."
He knelt and kowtowed, humbly begging: "They have given up everything, hoping only for your mercy! We are willing to do anything, as long as, as long as you..."
"The legacy of the Gray King."
The Seeder lowered his gaze, looked at that once-stilled iron heart, sighed softly, extended his hand, and with a gentle touch, it was as if he dispelled all the gloom and deathly silence.
