The face was his.
The eyes were not. They were the future, what he would become in a century or two.
The voice, dripping with sarcastic cruelty, was the same one he'd heard in his head since he'd been old enough to recognise his mistakes for what they'd truly been –
Not strong enough. Not … man … enough.
He'd done his best. Hadn't he? All that time? He deserved something better than a one-way ticket to eternal agony. Hadn't it been his father's responsibility to protect his sons?
He'd failed, but that didn't mean he was worth nothing at all.