Hope slept for fourteen straight hours after the assault and woke up to 2,800 alliance members celebrating victory, which was—I mean we'd won but we'd also lost fifteen fighters and she was immediately spiraling into survivor's guilt before breakfast was even served.
"Fifteen dead." Her voice was flat. Clinical. Observational. "Thirty wounded. All because Fae attacked. All because of me."
All because of me. Right. Four-and-a-half-year-old accepting responsibility for dimensional war casualties.
"Because Fae attacked." My correction was gentle but firm. "Not because of you. The Fae made choice to assault. The alliance made choice to defend. Those fifteen died protecting the stronghold protecting you—but their deaths were Fae action not your fault."
Not your fault. Right. Trying to break the guilt loop.
"But I coordinated the defense." Her protest was immediate. "I made tactical decisions. What if I made wrong decision? What if someone died because I chose strategy incorrectly?"
