At last, the way for Zen was clear, and he took off sprinting.
“Look out!” Morty hollered just as Zen reached his prize, hand closing around the pouch with the remaining dust too late.
“Mine!” Gaian’s voice preceded him, flipping Zen around and pressing him into the table. The trap had failed, and Gaian was a powerhouse atop Zen. “You’re mine! You will drink from me! You will be with me!”
Even now, with nearly all his best warriors slain or turned against him, that was all Gaian wanted, but the only thing Zen could feel in reply was a deep remorse held in the centuries that separated them and all that had made Gaian this.
“You’d imprison me,” Zen asked plainly, soft between them, “take choice away from me, like the king who first tore me from you? Like that lord who acted out of fear?
