"He needs me for something," Zephyrus said, his voice low and certain. He set his coffee cup down with a sharp click. "That's the only explanation. He could have crushed me as a child. He could have taken my power when it first manifested. But he didn't. He let me live, let me fester in my own hatred. He's been... cultivating me."
The idea was chilling. It made the years of his pain feel like a deliberate, cruel farming process.
"For what?" I asked, my mind racing through the possibilities. "A sacrifice? A vessel? Or is your power somehow more useful to him when it's fully realized inside you?"
"I don't know," he admitted, frustration etching lines on his face. "But it's the only thing that makes sense. It means he won't kill me outright. Not until he gets whatever it is he wants."
I h
