"Do you really mean it!?" Revian threw his arms forward unexpectedly, fists trembling with such spirit that Caelistra couldn't help but laugh at his energy.
"Unless the recounting was incorrect, then yes. Why do you ask?"
Revian stepped back a couple inches, thinking on his words. Although there'd been a distant feeling pulling on his heart—constantly reminding himself of his past but never giving him the full details—he'd never quite put it to words.
"Well, I suppose I ask because my memories as a child are... limited. The only things I remember are some moments with my mother, and the faces of the bastards that killed her." Revian's face twisted in response to the furious flames burning from within.
He'd tried best not to dwell on the past, but each time he recalls that night—each time he remembers his mother's face, newfound hatred fills him, the passing memory fanning the flame.
