His answer does not please her, is the first thing that he thinks.
It was not the right answer.
There is regret, and then disappointment, and above all else, a self-hatred that spreads like wildfire through him. He should be more clever for her. Should be a better companion for his sister. Better at conversation and more able to match the brilliance of her mind, of her powers, of her gifts.
But he is just Obelisk.
He is not the wonder of Altar, nor the horror of Cher.
He is just a simple boy cast alongside them as a spare, a forgotten piece.
(He does not mind this truth, most days, does not mind being their trailing piece—
but it feels more acute when she stares at him so squarely like this.)
So he says nothing at first because he has no words to offer her. He just shuffles in place, tries to find a more comfortable position pinned beneath her gaze. Like finding shade before the glare of the sun.
“I would go to the end,” he answers finally. “To the place where it all ends.”
To the Afterlife, to the place of the quiet and the dead.
To the place he knows he is bound.
turn your head toward the storm that’s surely coming along