Reflections
Silas sat on the edge of his bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The faint hum of the house settling in the silence was the only sound. It had been hours since the conversation with his father, but the words still echoed in his mind like thunder in the distance.
"What do you aim to achieve with all this?"
"Are you doing all this because you can, because you want to, or because you have to?"
"Do you plan to rule the world?"
Silas exhaled deeply, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair. He had faced armies, crushed organizations, and outwitted the most powerful people on the planet, yet here he was—unable to answer simple questions from his father.
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He leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as if it might hold the answers.