Sinael now owned his fathers house, his tears began to flow once more but this time over an apathetic face. He stood there staring, unable to stop the tears figuring he should just let them come out in here.
He sat in his fathers chair looking up at the separators in the room. There wasn't much he could do, he didn't want to change things around either. The boy felt as if leaving it like this was just as good as having his body.. but it wouldn't do.
He clenched his fist, gripping the fine velvet chair as he thought of how the Archon must have just tossed his fathers body into the pit he'd call a grave. The boy flinched at the thought of it.
A whistle began to blow as the boy tried to whistle a tune he'd sing while waiting for his father to return when he was smaller. Normally, his father would come home shortly after this whistle, as if he were connected to his son or mere coincidence. Whatever the reason, he didn't care, he whistled hoping his father was still alive and the pain he felt was from some nightmare.
A hard blink reassured him that his father was dead, Sinael had no room to behave as a child anymore. He'd have to train until he could fight the Archon himself. He'd be the one to carry his fathers mantle forward, but with his own vision. His father sought to understand everyone, Sinael wanted everyone to understand him.
The next few years of his life were painted in black, a misguided confused youth left uncomforted by those who his father called family. None reached out to consult him, none looked his way, none gave a message of his passing, none seemed to be mourning.
Did this place truly deserve him, his dedication? No, they didn't. He'd destroy them as well. Crafthold after. The boy would end all three parties. Whether it be through espionage or through devotion under a banner falsely serving one he'd soon betray. He'd make it to the top, he'd spread his wings and end them as the true judge.
"Father, forgive me for what I'm about to do." His only words in his fathers room.
He stood from the chair and walked over to the bed, rubbing a hand over the pillow one more time. The boy closed his eyes and then slowly reopened them, no prayer could return him. He turned to the door and began to walk, a dark presence behind him in the form of a black cloud.
The rain was pitch black, and the thunder was more of a whisper, a voice chuckling as the young Anauel had subconsciously begun a terrible path to ascension.
The Abyss waits for his arrival in the eternal pit.