As Alex stared at the floating weapon, a single thought repeated itself in his mind, circling with stubborn clarity:
What was it doing here…?
When his mother had first mentioned Trophos, the reality hadn't fully settled in. The shock of the weapon's identity had overwhelmed the rest—its rank, origin, and impossible power. But now, standing in front of it, seeing it with his own eyes—untouched, unclaimed—another truth began to unfold. And this one… hurt more than the last.
For Trophos to be here…
Then that meant—
His father had to have left it behind.
Dropped it.
Chose not to wield it in the final moments.
He had faced the other patriarchs—monsters among monsters—without it.
Without it.
Alex's chest tightened. The implications rolled in like a rising tide, each colder than the last.
