Neverwinter Forest i'm beyond the archetype

[makes things uncomfortable for everyone, cackles maniacally]

Interest flickered dully as Kjalarr spoke of his relationship with Scimitar and Allure, and Cypress wondered at the weird sensation of conflict that threatened to tear him in two. On some level, he was truly interested in what Kjalarr and Shrike had to say — and the quickening of his heartbeat at the thought of new names and wild adventures revealed that the very small boy who had wanted to be a hero and slay all of Lucy, Eshe, and Allure’s dragons alongside Rannoch and Scimitar had not died in that bloodied meadow. There was another part of him, though, that stamped down that brief flicker of excitement, calling it ugly and unfair: guilt. How could he find joy in life when his parents — and likely his only littermate and best friend, too — were dead?

Hearing the names on repeat — Scimitar, Rannoch, Lucy, — was agonizing, and Cypress stopped in his tracks at the physical pain that stabbed through him. He wasn’t going to cry in front of the two older males — he wasn’t a baby — but his breathing grew rapid and uneven even against his greatest efforts. “Did you know L-L-Lucy’s — ” he paused to steady himself “ — mama and paw, Shrike?” he asked, swallowing hard. He didn’t know why it felt so good to talk about things that made him sad; Eshe and Scimitar had never had to give their gently-reared sons grief counseling, after all. Then, recalling the information he’d just gleaned: “I’m sorry your cousin died,” he said more softly, his voice still dry and dusty and somewhat stoic. “I didn’t know that’s why you came here. I thought you just came because Allure likes you and wanted you to.” Unaware that he’d potentially dropped a bomb of some kind, Cypress went ahead and dropped another one: “what’re we going to do without my — without — ” Biting his tongue, he pushed out the words that hurt the most:

“ — if the forest has no king and queen anymore.”