"You... Ungrateful wretch," the old man muttered, coughing violently. "You—my own son—"
"No," Riven cut in, voice sharp as a blade. "Don't you dare use that word. Son? You don't get to call me that. You never treated me like one."
The man sneered, "It was worth a shot..." He murmured under his breath. Even when he was suffering, he would never regret it or even admit to regretting it.
"You ruined me," Riven said, voice softer now, but not kinder. "Or, you tried to. How did that work out for you?"
He leaned in close to the bars, eyes gleaming with an expression that seemed so unlike him.
"You think I came down here to kill you?" he whispered. "That would be too easy. Death is merciful. You don't deserve mercy."
He stepped back.
"I want you to live, Father. I want you to rot in this cell. I want you to remember that the boy you despised is the one you couldn't destroy."
