The moment Belisarius opened his eyes, the chamber shuddered as if reality itself recoiled.
A ripple of sheer force expanded from the dais, rolling outward like an aftershock of something far older than the temple itself. The violet-green arcs of meltdown energy crackled through the air, slithering up his half-formed limbs, knitting muscle and shadow together with every pulsing heartbeat. His existence flickered—one second, he was a spectral mirage, the next, flesh and bone. And in that instant, I knew that face. I knew that smirk.
My uncle.
Belisarius Drakhan. A criminal I had already cut down with my own hands.
