What is this place? What world did he invent now, spun from his father's stories and populated with men like this one, urging him to go on even though he's lost everything? Ronan feels dizzy. He shuts his eyes, touching his fingertips to his temple.

Let it go. He's never let anything go. He's not sure he knows how.

"I need to sleep," he murmurs, though what he means is, I need to dream, and he doesn't know whether that's even possible anymore. But the void inside him is growing, starved and yawning. He has to try, at least, or this thing will devour him just like they all hope it will. Ronan lies back, pressing his hand over his eyes.