He'd known how dangerous the Legacies were.
That was precisely why he had never craved direct confrontation—not yet, not until he was armored in power sufficient to survive the fallout.
The threats he had issued were not declarations of war. They were polite warnings. Back off. Mind your lanes. I possess knowledge that could wound you gravely, so let us all maintain the fragile peace of mutually assured silence.
But they hadn't listened.
And honestly? He couldn't even muster genuine anger over that.
This was war now, and one did not whine that the enemy had struck first or struck harder. That was merely defeat by another name. That was being outplayed.
What he could be furious about himself—what burned cold and precise in his gut—was not expecting the sheer scale of how far they can go.
He had not anticipated they would escalate so ferociously, so swiftly. And that was on him.
