Yan Zhaoge had witnessed the devastating destruction of his friend's soul, torn apart by the relentless cruelty of the Stargazing Tower's script.
How could Yan Zhaoge ever return to the side of the beings who had inflicted that level of torture on his friend? How could a man of logic align himself with a system that required such barbaric, endless suffering?
He couldn't. Neither of them could.
They were too far gone, too deeply committed to the rebellion. They had burned their bridges, salted the earth, and tied their fates to the silver-haired chef standing between them.
The middle elder of the High Council watched the silent, unwavering defiance of the two Sovereigns.
The black, void-like eyes did not register anger, only a cold recalculation of variables.
