And Tyrion was the dog who had picked it up.
Like a terrified child desperately trying to hide a stolen toy before their parents walked through the door, a sudden, wild panic overtook him.
He couldn't carry this in his hands. He couldn't keep it in a spatial ring where another paragon might sniff out its unique signature. He needed it completely hidden from the world.
With a trembling hand, Tyrion violently tore off his upper cloak and shirt, exposing his chest to the damp morning air. Steeling his nerves, he focused a razor-thin edge of his domain law onto his index finger. He pressed it to his abdomen and drew a clean, brutal line straight across his stomach.
Blood welled up instantly, spilling down his waist as he forced the wound wide open, creating a dark, bleeding pocket within his own flesh.
