The Emperor stood before him, at the center of the hall. Cold sweat dripped down Owen's neck, and his breathing quickened.

  “Father, do not try to stop me. I will not give up. I will save her. You yourself said… the end justifies the means.”

  “I see. At last thou hast understood,” he replied with a smile, glancing with curiosity at the two guards beside him.

  He paused, then continued:

  “Thou hast not answered me: where dost thou go?”

  “As far away as possible. From you.”

  “Art thou truly ready to do that which must be done?”

  Owen said nothing but drew his sword. One of the guards beside him, whom he kept under control as best he could, stepped forward, taking a stance in front of Owen to face the Emperor. His weapon in hand, he assumed a combat position.

  At the sight, his father’s smile widened into a terrifying grin.

  “Mortals are naught but pawns, expendable tools. Perfect, my son.”

  “That’s not true… They are people. It’s just that… I am not strong enough, alone.”

  “Aye, thou art. Else couldst thou not do this.”

  At that very moment, the Emperor vanished, only to reappear near Owen, his magical sword in hand. As he lowered his weapon to strike, the soldier stepped in, parrying the blow with a deafening crash. The force of the strike brought the man back to awareness. Finding himself in combat with the Emperor, he cried out in surprise and released his grip. The Emperor’s sword continued its arc and cut sharply into the man’s shoulder.

  The man screamed in pain and dropped to his knees. Owen felt a wave of nausea, as if struck by the recoil. The Emperor, no longer concerned with him, circled the man and advanced slowly toward his son, his gaze fixed on him, as Owen retreated in small steps.

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  Sweat now poured down the boy’s face. His breathing was irregular, his heart hammering in his chest.

  “Dost thou see? This man hath fulfilled his purpose. Now is he naught but dead weight.”

  “I just want you… to leave us alone…”

  “Dost thou think thou dost deserve that? Thou art capable of great deeds, Owen. Thou needst not vain emotions such as attachment. Thou needst her not.”

  “That’s not true! I need her… and she needs me. I will protect her.”

  Trembling, Owen raised his weapon, ready to defend himself. The Emperor paused, considering for a moment.

  “Tell me, Owen. What wouldst thou do if she died, here and now?”

  A shiver of fear ran through the boy. His father had never threatened his mother so openly. This was no bluff.

  “I forbid you to touch her!” Owen shouted.

  “Thou… forbiddest me?” the Emperor asked with scorn.

  With that, the Emperor vanished, reappearing next to the guard still carrying the girl in his arms. He struck the man hard in the stomach: the man let out a strangled cry under the force of the blow and doubled over in pain, releasing his hold. Owen’s mental grip on him shattered instantly, the shock knocking the wind out of Owen as well.

  The Emperor caught the girl before she could fall. Almost tenderly, he held her against himself, still unconscious, so that she faced Owen, and delicately pressed the tip of his sword against her throat.

  “And now? How dost thou intend to protect her?” he asked simply.

  Owen trembled all over. He was terrified. If his father killed her… before his very eyes… he would never recover.