Pyra . . .

[ There are so many things he can say to everything that's been said. For a while, he doesn't know which part to address. He opens his mouth, but closes it when no words come to mind. In the end, he decides to be as honest as possible. ]

My mother used to say that my heart was weak. She would remind me time and again that I needed to be strong for the Empire . . . If she were to see me now, she might deem me in need of another reminder.

[ And how it hurts, knowing that she would probably be disappointed in him. A widow left to groom a timid child for the throne, she'd slaved away to prepare him for the world and died an early death for her efforts. Now look where her son has ended up. What has he done for her in return?

The weak, treacherous part of him reaches up to clasp Pyra's hand. His cooled heart warms from the touch, swells with adoration for the first person to have ever called it strong. He wants to hold onto her hand and never let go. ]

But if you say that this heart of mine is my greatest strength . . . perhaps it's true.