“Yshana was like a daughter to me,” Sevaan said scornfully, “and you know that! She was loved by everyone in the Alliance, most of all by you. There’s no denying it. And if I had the power, I’d have brought her back to life the instant she died.”
His chest tightened, but it wasn’t from nervous energy. Dwyn felt resentment sink into him like a snake bite, its toxic venom heating his body and blood. “Go form whatever party you’d like far from here, and leave me out of it!”
“But Dwyn, there’s evidence that–”
“I’ll have none of it!” Dwyn flailed his arms impatiently. “Why are you still here, Sevaan?”
“Baleon has returned,” the cleric uttered grimly.
A new silence entered the room. A silence that swallows up caves, a silence that sleeps in tombs.
“Ah-hah,” Dwyn finally proclaimed, “so that’s why you’re here! Devil’s spy, wicked agent of evil! You’ve come to torture me in the name of a fallen enemy. Begone, leave me be!” He stood from the bench, angrily grabbed at Sevaan’s cloak, began to forcibly usher him to the front door.
He allowed himself to be grabbed and dragged out. He didn’t resist. “We need you, Dwyn. It’s not over!” Sevaan felt a hand press against his back, and he was out in the cold once more.
“Baleon is dead. I saw him slain in front of my own eyes. The Alliance completed their task. The thing is done. Don’t ever come back here, for you will not find a friend!” Dwyn slammed the front door shut. It was like a solitary thunderclap in the deadpan twilight.