He stepped closer, placing a hand at the back of Aric's neck, drawing him in with a rare, unguarded look—a father's grief, a husband's regret, an emperor's impossible choice.
"Find those who plotted against your mother," he murmured, voice barely more than a breath.
"And make them pay."
The words lingered, a promise carved into silence.
As Aric looked his father in the eyes, his expression hardened, every word deliberate and cutting.
"You need not ask this of me," he said, his voice quiet but his intent loud, "but rest assured, they will pay with their lives and more." His gaze was as fixed as iron, the promise filling the chamber like a silent echo.
Xavier's eyes lingered on his son, the lines of his face deepening in the torchlight as if etched with unspoken regrets.
Though the emperor's countenance remained firm, there was a glimmer—perhaps relief, perhaps something else entirely—that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
