His words cut through me like silver blades, each syllable carrying weight of lives that will be destroyed by what I'm about to do. Three daughters who will grow up without father because a monster needed to prove philosophical point about evolutionary necessity.
But Kaerith watches from shore, and Lyssa waits back in cave where her safety depends on my willingness to become whatever protection actually costs. Love requires choices that traditional morality can't survive.
I kill him quickly. Efficiently. My claws open his throat in single stroke that grants mercy even while ending life. His blood spreads through dark water like crimson flower blooming in depths where ancient spirits whisper approval of necessary violence.
When I return to shore, the other three fishermen lie positioned around small fire they'll never need again. Kaerith has arranged them with artistic precision—not random corpses but educational display about superiority of chosen darkness over naive idealism.
"We were never friends," he says quietly, settling beside the lake where innocent blood mixes with water that has witnessed centuries of similar lessons. "Waira don't have friends, Thorrin. We have competitors who serve mutual interests until those interests diverge."
The words settle into my chest like stones, dragging down every assumption I've carried about our relationship. Centuries of shared struggle reduced to strategic alliance between rival predators.
"Lyssa and I?"
"You represent the past. Connections to what I used to be before I understood what strength actually requires." His voice carries no malice—just practical assessment of strategiccomplications. "After Malakor dies, those connections become threats to what Elira and I have built together."
I look at innocent blood on my claws, understanding that something fundamental has died beside this haunted lake. Not just four fishermen whose only crime was existing in wrong place when monsters needed educational materials.
The old Thorrin died in these waters. What emerged carries his memories but serves different master—survival of creatures loved enough to corrupt soul for their protection.
"When?"
"Soon." He rises, already moving toward forest where spirits wait to witness our return journey. "Consider tonight preparation for accepting what genuine love actually costs when sentiment becomes liability."
The monsters wearing familiar faces have made their choice about what relationship requires.
Now I understand mine will be identical, or Lyssa and I will join these innocents in whatever mass grave serves their philosophical demonstrations.
The only question is whether I can become efficient enough killer to buy us time for escape when the moment arrives.
