[Haldor's POV—After the Truth—Imperial Palace—Continuation]
The light faded.
But the weight didn't.
It settled in my chest—slow, relentless—until every breath felt like it had to push through something solid. I stood where I was, hands at my sides, posture rigid out of habit… not because I knew how to stand anymore.
Son.
The word echoed in a place inside me that had never had a name.
I had faced death without flinching. I had stood on battlefields soaked in blood, made decisions that cost lives, and carried orders that would haunt men for decades.
None of that compared to this.
Because war had rules.
This did not.
I looked at General Luke again.
No—I looked at the man who was now, undeniably, my father.
He wasn't standing like a general anymore. His shoulders were slightly bowed, as if he were afraid to take up too much space in front of me. His eyes—those same eyes I had always avoided—were bright. Not with tears. With something worse.
Hope.
