All he could see is an endless field of fresh blooming snow, blinding in its whiteness. The mere vision burns him until he is withering. At once he is Keir ancient and war torn; and he is Seo, still a child of ten and writhing around in indescribable agony. It feels as if flesh have been burned off from his bones and they lay naked on biting snow, a skeleton of embers left to sizzle and fume in futile attempt to prevail.
Then here is here now, with a blade lodged in his shoulder and another's hilt grasped in his hand, twisting as it sank further into the enemy's vessel. Keir had never had the opportunity to face his father in this manner. May be it was another circle that has come back to the beginning.
The reptilian eyes simmer and fill with mocking sort of rage.
