He raised his head toward her and smiled—a child's smile—yet his voice emerged deep, like that of a wise man who had lived a hundred years.
"Mother… I knew you would come. You're late."
Yan looked at him with tearful eyes, not because of the pain in her shoulder, but because her heart had yet to grow accustomed to seeing her son like this… forever a child.
She stepped closer, slowly, blood still flowing from her shoulder.
But Dandiren did not rise from his throne. Instead, he calmly closed his book, rested his chin on his small hand, and said:
Dandiren: "Your wound… from the old woman, isn't it?"
Yan (surprised): "How did you know?"
Dandiren (with a mocking smile despite his childlike features): "I was watching the jinn from afar… They entered your palace hours ago. Everything, to me… is written here." He gestures to his head.
He fell silent for a moment, then continued in a voice heavier than his age:
Dandiren: "Mother… you don't have the luxury of time. The old woman is merely a prelude… Those coming from Centaurus will make the blood of the House of Ina flow like rivers through the mountains."
Yan (gazing at him with a mixture of tenderness and worry): "But I came to protect you, my firstborn. I won't allow your curse to become a burden."
Dandiren smiled with a childlike cunning, then leapt from the throne and approached her. The glow of the lava beyond the windows flickered within his bright eyes.
Dandiren: "Mother… my body is small, yes. But my mind surpasses that of all the knights of Centaurus combined. I don't need protection… all of you will need me."
He extended his small hand and touched her wound, as though his touch carried a trace of wisdom and reassurance.
Dandiren (in a low voice): "Let me be your mind in this war… and you—be our heart."