Gumarak's hands shook as they gripped the cold stone floor.
Tears fell silently, dripping between his knuckles and disappearing into the dust.
"This… this is all my fault…"
His voice was hoarse—no longer that of a chieftain, no longer the proud warlord of the Dwarves.
"If I hadn't claimed this damn thing… if I had just let it stay buried…
I thought I could control it. Thought I could use its power to protect us."
He gritted his teeth and punched the ground once, his gauntlet cracking the stone.
"But now—now our borders are burning. My people are dying. All because I was too proud to ask for help. Too proud to be weak."
The voice inside his head whispered again, almost gleeful:
"You were never strong enough. But you could be."
"Devour more. Become more."
"Take everything. Even your regrets."
"NO!!" Gumarak roared.
He slammed his fist against the side of his head, shutting the voice out for just a moment.
Then he looked up.
His mind drifted to Garius.
