Theron did not see what his father saw.
The door had opened, and light had spilled out, and his father had walked into it, his face set, his eyes fixed on something that was not there. And then the light had closed behind him, and Theron was alone in the chamber with the thing that was not a statue.
Do not be afraid, the voice said. He will return. Or he will not. Either way, there is nothing you can do to change what is happening.
"What is happening?" Theron's voice was steady, though his hands were shaking. "What is the door showing him?"
The truth. The price. The thing he must give up to claim what he seeks.
"What thing?"
The thing that was not a statue was silent for a long moment. Then it moved, its long limbs unfolding, its featureless face turning toward Theron with an attention that made his skin crawl.
You, it said. The door will show him that the price is you. That to claim the Echo, he must give up his son. His hope. His last chance to be something more than what he was.
Theron felt the words hit him like a blow. "That's not—that can't be—"
The Echo was forged in blood, the thing said. It was made to kill gods, and the price of god-killing is everything. The Skylords know this. That is why they fear it. Not because it can kill them, but because it can make them mortal. And mortality is the one thing they cannot bear.
It moved closer, and Theron could see now that it was not stone, not really. There was something beneath the black surface, something that moved, something that breathed.
Your father will choose, it said. He will choose between the Echo and you. Between vengeance and love. Between the man he was and the man he might become. And whatever he chooses, the world will change.
"What do you mean?"
The Echo is not a weapon. It is a key. A key that opens the door between what is and what could be. If your father takes it, he will become something new. Something that has not existed since the Firstborn walked the world. Something that the Skylords have feared since the beginning.
"And if he doesn't?"
Then he will be your father. Just a man. Broken, yes. Scarred, yes. But a man, and nothing more. And the world will continue as it has, with the Skylords on their thrones and the mortals on their knees, until the cycle begins again.
Theron stared at the thing, at the door, at the light that had swallowed his father.
"You want him to take it," he said. "You want him to become whatever it is you're talking about."
We want many things. We have been waiting for a long time, your father and I. Waiting for someone strong enough to carry what we carry. Someone broken enough to understand. Someone angry enough to fight.
It reached out, and its hand was not stone now, but something else, something that shimmered and shifted and changed.
He will choose, it said. And whatever he chooses, it will be the right choice. Because he is your father. And you are his son. And that is the only thing that has ever mattered.
Theron looked at the door, at the light that was beginning to fade, at the shadow that was growing in its place.
And he waited.