He opened his eyes under the tree, and gazed ahead at nothing. And at everything. Everything that mattered, in any case...everything of imagination.

He saw nothing of; felt it all plainly. The touch of it, unmistakable, like bitter ice, burning and twisting and turning inside his essence like a touch of the very blackness of the abyssal plain itself.

He turned his head, under the tree, toward the other way, knowing who was not there to see. The obvious question, the only one he knew to ask.


To permit him. To allow amend for that which paid the price for his acts, and to heal the undying wound.

The answer made no sense. In what way was this...this horror, again....a healing?

"I do not understand."

Care, surging within. It brings suffering. In this, his dilemma, but also his hope.

"His rage is as always was, before."


"Again, Sire...weakness within me, per this."

His anger with purpose anew, if slight. Anger for himself, once. Anger for another, now.

"His anger, destructive anew."


"The act he already leans toward, horror yet further. Your decision of his release, to bring amend and healing how?"

Horror borne as fruit of hopelessness in ignorance, per her lack in understanding as well.

"Of what, his remembrance?"


"And she?"

Kept away as must be, to prevent self-poisoning through well-intention.

"But she, past, for now. Not to be reborn for at least hours in time passing."

There was then no reply. Unnecessary words were just that. The words had been more to himself than otherwise.

He felt it, all the more; his rage building, in that place. Moments crawling, as per his own choice, to sense, and consider.

"A world's slaughter well-neigh. Such cannot be."

Yes, it cannot.

"And yet his ire, unabating. His once-wish, reviving."


"Again, your Highness, my lack of understanding."

His decisions as always his own. Influence on him, remaining, however.

He thought; long, hard. As much as one second passing.

"What is your wish of me?"

Request help for him.

"Knowledge of truth and action upon it, the only thing to help, even now."


He pondered that, for another moment, the horror of what he felt, present, and still rising. The other…as free as he might be, save for the requirements he himself knew as well as the other did; that he himself had been shown, from the moment the other was permitted free. But even in that freedom, request from aside to affect, still present.

"I ask You that he be made fully knowledgeable of her nature, to hold his own weakness of hate at bay, and to make improved decision."

Quiet descended, immediately, the connection to the other fading immediately; the wind, blowing gently against the leaves just above him, in the shade.

He sat, once more. And considered.

And hoped.