Pryce felt the weight of it anyway.
He'd stopped counting days after the first thousand. Or maybe it had been the first hundred thousand. He couldn't tell anymore.
Just endless gray emptiness and his own thoughts.
At first, he'd raged. Screamed at the Void Lord, at Rhys, at the universe for the unfairness of it all.
Then he'd bargained. Promised to change, to be better, if only someone would let him out.
Then he'd fallen into despair. Centuries—or maybe just minutes, he couldn't tell—of hopeless grief.
And finally, slowly, something new emerged:
Acceptance.
"I did this to myself," he said to the emptiness. His voice was the only sound in all of existence here. "Not the curse. Not my father. Me. My choices. My cruelty."
No answer came. There never was one.
"Elara was innocent. I knew it, deep down. But I couldn't admit I was wrong because that meant admitting I was unlovable. That my worst fear—that I'd drive away anyone who truly saw me—was coming true because of my own actions."
The void didn't respond, but Pryce felt something shift in himself.
"I hurt her because I was hurting. I killed Cassian because I couldn't face the truth. I cursed Elara's soul because I couldn't let go." His voice cracked. "I destroyed everything because I was too afraid to trust in love."
For the first time in... however long he'd been here... Pryce felt something besides self-pity.
He felt genuine remorse.
Not sorry he'd been caught. Not sorry for the consequences to himself.
Sorry for the pain he'd caused. Sorry Elara had suffered. Sorry six innocent people had died.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to souls that couldn't hear him. "I'm truly, genuinely sorry. And I know that doesn't fix anything. Doesn't bring anyone back. Doesn't undo the trauma. But I need to say it anyway."
The void remained silent.
But something in Pryce had changed.
He was beginning—just beginning—to understand the difference between obsession and love.
Between remorse and redemption.
He had a long way to go still.