Phillip does not like this uncertainty nor the finality with which Gustavain speaks of his own role in this, his own fate. He does not speak of his own in turn, which may seem to be an admission that he does not know- but he does, just does not wish to share it. Not yet. Not now. Not until he knows how.
He does not know what to say, how to respond to any of it. He understands why so much of the story seems to have been skipped over, when they were sitting in the upper loft and back that short time ago where they were still just old friends. He doesn't move his hand away, still tracing faint lines, lost for where to go. "At least tell me it's not yours alone," he says, though there is little hope in his voice. He'd only really heard mention of the Warrior of Light, after all, the two other wards of House Fortemps getting far less mention...
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He does not know what to say, how to respond to any of it. He understands why so much of the story seems to have been skipped over, when they were sitting in the upper loft and back that short time ago where they were still just old friends. He doesn't move his hand away, still tracing faint lines, lost for where to go. "At least tell me it's not yours alone," he says, though there is little hope in his voice. He'd only really heard mention of the Warrior of Light, after all, the two other wards of House Fortemps getting far less mention...