[Liem cannot help the tremor that rocks him as he feels the weight of Sothis's being impact his mind. Like the burning red sun beyond the shelter of this cavern, she scorches him with the pure, pitiless force of her disdain for those in the world she made. He feels his edges fray and burn and blister where their minds touch, unable to withstand the contact.
But he does not ignite. He pulls his tattered edges in close and remains steadfast in the glow of her timeless light. And, for the bitter trade of her darkness, he offers her his own light — what remnants he still retains.
Liem gives her the bruised and stitched-together love he has for his country, carefully nurtured by the priests who raised him, even though his country did not love him in return. He gives her the beauty of the Cathedral of Coins, a-bustle with people and lit from the golden glow of yellow glass windows. He gives her the rough and boisterous gratitude of the country folk who had come to rely on him, and the promises he had made to Taldor's only living princess, who had sought to become its very first woman ruler. He gives her his affection for the colleagues he'd fought alongside — playful banter and quiet confessions and shared dreams. He gives her his hard-fought desire, paid for in blood and tears, to ease his people's burdens and spread the stability that Abadar wished for to all those who needed it.
Once, these things were his hope and his strength. They lent him the conviction he needed to weather the darkness when he had no one else to rely on but himself. But now they are shackles, chaining him to his despair when duty pulls him relentlessly forward — beyond the reach of his home and its concerns.
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But he does not ignite. He pulls his tattered edges in close and remains steadfast in the glow of her timeless light. And, for the bitter trade of her darkness, he offers her his own light — what remnants he still retains.
Liem gives her the bruised and stitched-together love he has for his country, carefully nurtured by the priests who raised him, even though his country did not love him in return. He gives her the beauty of the Cathedral of Coins, a-bustle with people and lit from the golden glow of yellow glass windows. He gives her the rough and boisterous gratitude of the country folk who had come to rely on him, and the promises he had made to Taldor's only living princess, who had sought to become its very first woman ruler. He gives her his affection for the colleagues he'd fought alongside — playful banter and quiet confessions and shared dreams. He gives her his hard-fought desire, paid for in blood and tears, to ease his people's burdens and spread the stability that Abadar wished for to all those who needed it.
Once, these things were his hope and his strength. They lent him the conviction he needed to weather the darkness when he had no one else to rely on but himself. But now they are shackles, chaining him to his despair when duty pulls him relentlessly forward — beyond the reach of his home and its concerns.
He will not need these things where he is going.]