Dorian did not speak at first. Instead, he stood in thoughtful silence, the kind that stretched long and deep, like the shadows cast by dying stars. No twitch of the mouth, no idle movement of hand or foot. Still again, and this time not in the way a predator waits—but in the way a god considers an equation that no longer adds up in his favour.
This was not the outcome he had envisioned. Not precisely. But that was the nature of games played over centuries. Even the best-laid stratagems bent beneath the strain of lesser moves, of luck, of timing, of chaos. And sometimes—rarely—of sentiment. He’d accounted for all of them. And still, this—
He exhaled softly through his nose. The smile that followed was faint, but it was real, though its curvature bore the weary grace of a man who’d just tallied the worth of a kingdom and found it overvalued. "Your species is not clever, Hadama. You are narrow-minded and cowardly at the wrong times. You were simply...lucky. But then," he added, glancing once more toward Starfall, "even luck becomes inevitable, given enough time."
When he turned back, it was with a look like glass: perfectly smooth, perfectly clear—and utterly unyielding. Then, finally, the smallest nod. Agreement, edged in iron. "Very well," he said, the words precise and balanced, as if weighed on scales no one else could see. His eyes—so like frozen oceans, so achingly blue—did not blink. "How long will you need before your end of the arrangement is complete? It will take no more than a day on my end before Starfall is...emptied."
This was not the outcome he had envisioned. Not precisely. But that was the nature of games played over centuries. Even the best-laid stratagems bent beneath the strain of lesser moves, of luck, of timing, of chaos. And sometimes—rarely—of sentiment. He’d accounted for all of them. And still, this—
He exhaled softly through his nose. The smile that followed was faint, but it was real, though its curvature bore the weary grace of a man who’d just tallied the worth of a kingdom and found it overvalued. "Your species is not clever, Hadama. You are narrow-minded and cowardly at the wrong times. You were simply...lucky. But then," he added, glancing once more toward Starfall, "even luck becomes inevitable, given enough time."
When he turned back, it was with a look like glass: perfectly smooth, perfectly clear—and utterly unyielding. Then, finally, the smallest nod. Agreement, edged in iron. "Very well," he said, the words precise and balanced, as if weighed on scales no one else could see. His eyes—so like frozen oceans, so achingly blue—did not blink. "How long will you need before your end of the arrangement is complete? It will take no more than a day on my end before Starfall is...emptied."
He'll rekindle all the dreams
it took you a lifetime to destroy
it took you a lifetime to destroy
