The time had come. The weight of the last straw piled on top of a millennium of other straws had broken him, and now that same weight had settled on his heart until every beat seemed to come with only the greatest off efforts and only because Vengeance was not through with him yet.
Every time Anders closed his eyes, he could see his gift to the Chantry, nestled deep in its bowels waiting for his signal. When the time came, there would be no time for tears; Vengeance would not have them.
But on this night in his clinic, Vengeance held less sway.
Surrounded by reminders that all he had ever wanted to do was live, and that once he had been more than just an embodiment of the fears the Chantry used to oppress his kind, Anders wept for his broken heart and all the hearts that he would soon break.
Not even Vengeance could take that from him.