It takes no time to know his answer. He feels it like an old wound that would never fully heal right. He could remember the bile in his mouth and the fire in his veins and the tears blurring his vision as he threw raw magical energy uselessly at a creature far beyond his capability in felling.

All over the cold, pale, corpse of his twin sister. The scream he'd given had left his throat raw for days and he'd wanted to cry when it started to heal. How dare his body heal and move on when hers never would? How dare their feet carry them away from the burning and destroyed city of his home when his heart was burned to ash on her funeral pyre? His friends spoke of war and retribution and finding answers and attempting to rebuild and all Chris wanted to do was scream and tear and break everything around him until they could tell him why it should even matter anymore?

Rhyt had wanted a life in their city...all Chris had ever wanted was to be free of it. To leave and live his own life.
But not like that. Not at the cost of her.

He swallows too hard and takes a very long drink. "Burn the gods down from the sky, starting with the impossible metal dragon that dared to exist before me in that moment. I wanted to tear it apart...gear by gear...until I'd torn my fingers down to stumps doing it. I wouldn't even have cared so long as I could have just made it hurt."