The Breaking Point

Like a clockspring wound too tight, something snapped. He could hear the shattering in his mind; feel shards of broken idealism tearing at his consciousness. He was overwhelmed by a cold chill, but he wrapped himself in it: cold, empty, focused, enduring. Nobody cared anymore about Argen the boy. They did not care about him, only what he could do. They only cared about Argen the tool, Argen the Cavalier, the First among Equals. He stood straight, black coat rippling, fingering his revolver, the gift from Steven: Steven had cared. There was no going back, he could only move forward.