Nothing felt broken, at least. Hector couldn’t tell if his regeneration was still active or not. With everything that had transpired, he’d completely lost track of time. It could have been thirty minutes since Garovel started the regen. It could’ve been five.
As the dust cleared, Hector saw the blue cage again, more clearly this time. Inside of it was a man, hanging upside down.
“Ismael Blackburn,” said Ivan. “What are you doing, sneaking around?”
Indeed, it was him. Hector hadn’t registered the face at first, having only seen the man a couple times before.
Lord Ismael chose to remain silent.
Ivan kept talking anyway. “That aberration. Ibai. Tell me about him.” And when Ismael still did not respond, Ivan said, “He is your son, I hear. Is that true?”
“...Y-yes,” said Ismael. “It is.”
“Funny, I’d always heard you couldn’t have children. Do you know how aberrations are made?”
A groan passed Ismael’s lips, as if the words were being torn from his lungs. “No... I... I do not.”
“Ha. Where is that wife of yours? I should like to speak to her, too.”
Ismael’s face twitched, his mouth fighting to remain closed. And this time, it did.
Hector could only look on in horror. He wanted to help. Of course he did. But he knew better. He had to keep his focus. No matter what happened here, he had to keep it. Because Rasalased had been absolutely right.
“Tell me about your son,” said Ivan.
“Don’t be difficult. I am a patient man, but not that patient.”
“I won’t tell you anything more.”
The Salesman frowned, then turned to the unconscious Darktide. “Tell me, or he dies.”
“...You will kill him anyway,” said Ismael.
Hector felt he had to intervene. “Our conversation isn’t over. Leave them alone.”