Taranis stood in the Ring, watching the child sleep beneath ancient stone.

“He’s mine,” he whispered. “If I seem strange, it’s because I dream of betrayal but never see the face. I wake with my blade drawn, and no name on my lips.”
His voice cracked. “If that makes me unfit, just say it. I’ll find somewhere else.”
But Drax only stepped forward and gripped his brother’s arm.
“Then trust us. He stays.”