Atlas felt a pang in his chest as he listened to Henry calling out for him again. But even if he answered, communication between them was impossible; the system indicated it clearly. His influence over his father was less—or even lesser—than what it should have been. Less than Lara's, who truly cared for him.
But Atlas didn't know how much distance had grown between them until now. He could still see the fire burning in the nobles' eyes, ready to assemble whatever armies they had and march right away. He had hoped—even just a little—that his father, King Henry, would try to negotiate with the Empire.
