Jason could only nod. The boy was walking straight into the face of death, set against returning from it. The Vikings said that sometimes there is a call of battle in one's blood. Perhaps that is what there was to his whelp, and perhaps it was the sense of justice impending that bothering him so much. A lot of desire emprinted upon the shoulders of one so young. His mind spun as images of the broken and bloodied mass that the pup could become because of him were snarling into his vision and he could do nothing about it.
Damned if you do, to keep one such against their will, to imprision him to keep him from death at the hands of his captors.
Damned if you don't, to let him go and become that creature of his nightmares, that monster filled with strange lessons and cruelty.
The boy wanted the later. He desired to fly in the face of danger, to laugh at death, and above all to kill the killers and make Revolve plumet into destruction. But now Jason was standing in the way of that dream. The man who had delivered the boy from hell was denying him the heaven he desired to greatly.
He would not deny anyone their own heaven.
"We need to end that godforsaken island." There had been a long and undeveloped pause as Jason sat there, his eyes completely unfocused even as he spoke. Seeing without really seeing, he turned to the whelp, his mind superimposing the image of the other in his own vision. "And if that is what you choose so be it. I will not stop you. Hold me to it and hold me fast." The old face held a crumpled look as he announced his final decision, giving a half hearted and very broken smile. "I want you to be happy. Chase your dreams, Kyle Gibney. Be more than any mans tool for the rest of your life." The Illusionist breathed out, sighing as if there was nothing left for him now. Broken by his fear he leaned his head back against the headboard of the bed and closed his eyes.