They never told him why, told him what happened. The gods who thought him so important to drag out of his own grave. He had nothing but fractured memories and blood stained clothes, left to put together impossible puzzle pieces on his own. Maybe it is a cruel thin to do, accusing her for his death, but a part of Adrian can't help but think maybe he'd be spared all this if she had been stronger.

His mouth opens, then closes, the harshness of his expression falling in face of her tears. She does not weep openly, but he sees them stain her cheeks, watches her head bow in almost surrender. The bitterness stays, twists in his gut, but Adrian feels something relent.

"I didn't stay dead," There is no softness to his voice, but traces of hurt. "I woke up wit the taste of dirt in my mouth and a mark burnt into the palm of my hand."

Pulling the leather from his right hand, Adrian turns his palm out towards her, on it the symbol of a sun marks his skin, almost illuminated by the green glow that comes from the anchor. He breathes out as finger start to tremble, closing in on the mark and the light.

"You... should have been there."