"I'd refuse no matter what and stop us from entering this world no matter the cost."
Ah.
So she was right.
"No matter what you say... no matter what benefit this world could potentially offer, I would've refused, with everything I got," Oathran said.
His voice was still rough, still raw, but it was steadier now.
"If you told me, I..." He reached out and grasped her hand, his calloused fingers wrapping around hers, brushing his knuckle against the curve of her belly. His mist-grey eyes, wet now with tears he was not trying to hide, met hers. "I might never be able to meet Sol..."
Cecilia blinked.
Sol?
"Father God."
Oathran called before Isaiah on the edge of the churning vortex a couple of hours ago, the black leviathan waiting.
"Yes, my child?" Isaiah responded.
"I... have one last question."
"Ask."
Oathran took a deep breath, and then… "What... is the meaning of my name?"
