I am unbroken, my soul unharmed.
Sursa is gone. For now.
With an arm around Varujan, I assist him through the Darkness Hollows, aimlessly at first, then by muted candlelight along the floor. Varujan tucks his nubs at his chest, guiding our steps in struggled whispers. No doubt he’s in shock after what just happened.
A lump swells in my throat. I can never repay him.
Emotion gurgles up from my stomach—a bold palette of contrasting colors—gold, sapphire, crimson, each competing for release.
Gratitude, sympathy, anger, humility, adoration.
I believed him to be a soulless monster. Now, he faces an eternity without his hands to play his harp. Without his rook to leave The Shade and feel the sun.
He did it for me. Will he regret it someday?
I won’t let my uncertainty taint the selflessness of his gift.