He carried the words with him, their searing power marking his core for eternity.
There was no healing phrase, no potion to dull the pain. Only his solitude remained, his exile determined the day he set eyes upon his benevolent teacher, his isolation sealed when he last looked upon his pleading form.
He had wanted him to know the true words, yet only the pair that burned could be voiced as he saw his name on dying lips...
I want you to know how much I hate you for this.
...and he had struck him down with his invidious flame.