When he did, a deep ache settled in his chest.
'…oh.'
He'd definitely had it rough, with Frost blocking his power, his estranged relationship with his father, losing his mother, and the torturous years he'd spent in the Order, but Ingrid had also had it rough.
While he'd at least had his mother growing up, Ingrid had basically had no one. Their father was useless, while their mother spent most of her time handling the affairs of the South, and what little time she had left was often spent with him, helping him refine what she liked to call his gift.
The only time Ingrid ever got to spend with their mother was usually during family gatherings, training that involved both of them, and perhaps a few other moments Zephyrion couldn't place.
And then there was him. He could vaguely remember playing with Ingrid when they were much younger, but at some point, even that had stopped.
