we are aching bones and wasted years; any

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

His words are brutal and Magnus flinches visibly.

“I never said that, Ledger,” he says quietly, the gold in his eyes burning with intensity. He would never say that. For all of his flaws, Magnus was not cruel. Violent, stubborn, a tad bloodthirsty—yes. But not outright cruel. So why did his son think that he would ever say such things to him? Why blame him for something that was so clearly Magnus' own fault? Magnus shuddered at the mentioning of Joelle and felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest, but he did not take another step, not missing the fear so clearly defined in the other’s eyes. It would take a long time for him to forget that he son looked at him like that.

He does move, does not speak until Ledger is done, and then it makes perfect sense. Anger flashes in his stomach again, but so does understanding. “Whatever happened,” his voice is throaty and thick with emotion,  “it isn’t real.” His jaw clenches as he concentrates on his son before him, seeing the ghosts that now seem to haunt his lineage. “None of it was real—I promise.” Magnus had heard of Carnage’s vision of enjoyment; he knew that the dark god rather loved pulling the strings of reality around mere mortals.

Magnus would focus later on retribution.

“It was a sick, cruel dream, Ledger. It wasn’t real.” Another pause. “This is real. I’m real.”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.