His mind churned, thoughts tangling into a chaotic, suffocating mess. People had died—but was it truly his fault?
Was he really capable of destroying an ancient city, one that sprawled across more than thirty square kilometers?
Was the event engineered?
Was the Mawglass truly that powerful? Or had the spell he'd come to rely on—the one he had used so many times before—always contained such devastating flaws?
He pushed that last thought aside immediately. No, spells by nature were tools—conduits of intent and will. They could only produce results in proportion to the strength and control of the caster.
So what then? Did that mean the issue lay with his right eye?
Of course, Lugh had always known it was problematic. He didn't even know its exact origin.
But why? For what purpose? By whom? Actually that last part was obvious.
The more he tried to trace the answers, the more questions emerged like weeds, choking out every attempt at logic.
