Duskfire Glacier Bathe yourself, in the light

faust watched him—his boy—speak of death like a man. not with hunger, not with bloodlust, but with purpose. and that was the part that twisted something low in his gut. not pride. not sorrow. something colder. older. something that had belonged to faust’s father, and his father before him.
that’s the hope, he said at last, voice low and flat as the wind-scoured glacier. his eyes drifted out over the pines. over the rise where he could almost still see gjalla’s blood, dark in the snow.
men like sun eater, he went on, they don’t stop until someone stops ‘em. and that means we make damn sure it’s us.
his gaze cut back to kaelith then, and though his face didn’t soften, something in his eyes did. you’re not a killer, kae, he said. and that’s not a bad thing. but this—this war—it don’t care what kind of man you are. it’ll turn you into what it needs.
a beat.

then, quieter, almost a rasp:
so hold tight to the part of you that knows who you are. ‘cause when it’s over—and it will be over—darukaal’s gonna need men like that.
he stepped forward, heavy paw pressing briefly to the boy’s shoulder, the way his father never had to him.