Noctisardor Bypass I own that technology now.

If Anselm threw the harpoon, Heda threw the atlatl; it sunk deep into his skin with a soft gasp, his eyes widening as realization of the mortal blow sunk in. 

Had he known this?

The pieces came together in latticework symphony. Druid’s past woven with Heda’s and now, unthinkably — his own. 

The self-absorbed smirk fell from his face like stone upon stillwater. 

He said nothing of his father. It could not be true. But it was, and he knew it — for Heda only confirmed a missing piece Anselm suspected all along about Mahler and his predilection for departure. 

His lips curled back in a grimace to be so baldly portrayed as some needy, insecure monster. You don’t mean it. But the blow was done, an arterial fissure knocked loose. You know vhy I hate all religious freaks, Heda? You are all the same. His giltmarked stare laced with unsprung tears. You think you own the moral high ground, but you’re here in the dirt vith the rest of us. You just haven’t realized it yet. 

He released his shoulders with a hard exhale, wanting to be done with all of this. Despite the grenade he’d lobbed in heda’s court, he now deeply regretted his hand in it. 

It was too late for take back. Anselm made to move away, reeling from the bite of Heda’s words.