"You have changed."
The words drifted on the wind, quiet but firm.
Azhriel didn't need to turn. He recognized the voice instantly. Still kneeling at the grave, he answered, voice flat and distant—nothing like the warmth he had spoken with moments ago.
"Is that so."
Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried. Then the man appeared beside him, tall and composed. He didn't say anything at first—just sat down next to the boy in silence.
"You've got a new look in your eyes," Alaric finally said, his gaze resting not on Azhriel, but on the grave ahead. "Like you've found something. A reason. A path."
"Maybe I have," Azhriel said simply.
There was a brief pause between them. The breeze stirred the grass and leaves.
"So," Azhriel asked, "did you know?"
Alaric was quiet for a beat. Then he replied.
"You mean—did I know you were Cassandra's son?"
Azhriel gave the smallest nod.
"I knew it. From the beginning," Alaric said, voice gentler than before.
