He felt like his entire body was on fire.
It was a ridiculous sensation to be having right after speaking to his father for the first time in eight summers, but Damian felt it anyway, a raging fire sitting within his whole existence as he watched Uncle Adam and Grandmother Essun changing beneath his hands. The verdant flames engulfed them the way they had engulfed him and Serala a bit ago, and he stood in the center of it all with his tattoos burning and his heart doing something he didn't quite have a name for.
When the honorable did nothing in the Lands of Stone, the common people burned.
He'd always known this in the back of his mind. It had lived there, felt but never examined. But he'd carried the same mentality as everyone else he'd met, the simple inherited belief that the Lands of Stone were cruel and that some people died while some people lived, and there wasn't much to be done about which camp you ended up in.
