Whatever remaining anger Aurican have been holding on to evaporated like steam on heated water. Now, more than ever, the urge to weep is surging within his chest, trying to break his will.

But weep for who? His descendants who have fallen from grace? The draconians who were betrayed by both sides before they were even hatched? Himself, for a failure he could not foreseen? For Patersmith, whose very teachings were betrayed by the offspring of the students he proudly taught?

Always show mercy, even to your enemies . . . for it creates loyalty and friendship.

How is it possible to believe in mercy now, when centuries warped the very meaning of benevolence and courage?

The tense muscles on his shoulders and haunches sagged under imaginary weight. He could no longer meet Crucible's stare any longer. He doesn't want to even look at Kang, fearing what he might see in Kang's eyes, fearing distrust or worst, maybe something that may hint of Burll. Instead, he looks out into this world's Darkness Beyond, in the cold winter that shows more mercy to the weak and the lame than his descendants had done to their own unborn children.

"How could they do this to me?" He asks quietly, staring at oblivion. "How can they turn their backs on Patersmith's teachings, on my mother's sacrifice?"

The moment those words escape him, he knows the answer immediately.

It is easier to betray the dead, the forgotten, and the future than it is to betray the current living.