Salvation
Soon, soon, the pain would end; the world would be at peace.
He wouldn't sit around and wait, like the man who'd opened his eyes to the truth (infuriatingly enough; he knew better! Why didn't he do anything if he knew?). Nor would he run around and be everyone's errand boy, like the scrivener he'd recently met.
No, Trousseau would save the world himself. One town at a time. None of this waiting around for gods and artifacts and people who might not do what he needed when he needed them.
None of them understood. Chief hadn't; the Order didn't.
He was the only one who could change things, truly save everyone.
He cared not for this talk of "denying the dawn" and "peace through darkness." The only real peace would come when there was no one left to suffer in the first place. An endless night still brought suffering. Trousseau was the only one who saw that.
The embers glowed purple. The fire flared up. It was almost time.
The clouds shifted just as the flames hit their zenith, and the rain splattered against his mask.
Timberain would soon be glorious, beautiful, free.
Trousseau stoked the flames and laughed.