Vyan's gaze hardened, though his voice slipped into a tone almost dismissive, crafted to slice through suspicion. "How could I be talking about Ash," he said, letting his words hang heavy, layered with a bitterness that masked his intent, "when I watched him die right before my eyes?"
But beneath the calculated detachment, Vyan's thoughts coiled tight with worry.
The truth of Aster's survival was a flame he couldn't let anyone extinguish—not here, and certainly not with his grandfather. Eryndor's loyalty to the empire was forged in iron to the point he didn't look back on his own daughter and family in their final moments, leaving them stranded and disgraced.
So, if he suspected even a glimmer of truth, Vyan knew his grandfather wouldn't hesitate. He would turn Aster in, hand him back to the emperor like a sacrificial pawn, indifferent to the years of suffering his brother endured.
