Alarian was okay--recovering steadily. Thank god. It could have been worse, so much worse, and he thought about it all the time. Every breath he took was agonized, every step brought more weight to his soul.

Alarian was okay--but Zamael was not.

He sought out the Chancellor today, his mind made up. Never in his life had he felt more like shit. Perhaps the man could talk him out of this emotional mire, but he didn't think it was possible. No, he just needed to speak to Delight, to tell him of his intentions. To, perhaps, pass the message on to Alarian, if he should go before his brother had recovered.

He couldn't ever make this right. But he could prevent it from happening in the future.