He didn't believe in destiny, and that was precisely why it was so difficult for him to accept that maybe their blood was the root of everything, that the madness was inevitable and that the beliefs he held would all mean nothing in the end. But he felt no overwhelming power that he needed to fight against, no waves of madness or destruction or anything else; that made things difficult too. Arkham looked into his brother's eyes and saw nothing, understood nothing -- only that he couldn't trust him anymore, only that childhood was over, and this was all there was now. Isolation, loneliness, a stranded sense of belonging, a dying fire in the middle of the empty forest.
The coyote turned back to the cottage ruins, closed his eyes and exhaled white frost. It didn't have to be this way,
he said, but even he had little faith in those words. It wasn't destiny, but things still changed. People changed things. The emptiness in his chest expanded to his stomach, to his head. With this, all of Inferni would be cut off to him, all of what was left of his family. Maybe Gabriel was right then. Maybe he and Rachias really should just leave, go to some place far away because there was nothing left for them there. He didn't know.
Arkham stood and turned to leave. Goodbye, Gabriel.