Moonspear long in tooth and soul

For a moment, Dirge could not help but wonder what sort of lasting impact his departure made on his own family. It had pained his mother greatly that he felt the necessity to leave, and he had been certain that she understood why, or at least the notion that it would somehow make things easier. But would have they needed him, in some form or fashion that he could not fathom? The answer did not come, at least one to sate his wonder, and he discarded it as Arcturus spoke on.

"Perhaps such is the way of the world," he thought aloud, "and that we may never know their reasoning. It is selfish, but we do not see the world as they do, and the world is far from simple black and white." He thought then of Yami and how she had detested the thought of going home, of coming back to Charon as she had said so poignant and venomous. And of himself, who had gone in spite of protests and pleas.

A pause pressed in, and his ears fanned back on sweeping considerations.

"I would not go back to my own if given the chance," he continued, a resolute darkness settling in his tone. He could wonder after them all he wanted and the same of them, but he knew he would not go even if they would have him. No, he had come too far and had accomplished too much to forfeit it on their behalf. Perhaps his grandfather had been right to try and smother potential—mute ambition was still ambition enough, and how shrewd of Dirge to have capitalized on what had brought him to the station that he now held.