[He gasps at the touch, not because it's unwelcome or anything but because Sion is obviously using mana transfer to get his attention. And it works. He freezes midway through his ministrations, and after a moment, he sits back to listen.

Sion is right, as always. Belthazar finds he is wrong a lot of the time lately. Shouldering all of his troubles has been a survival instinct as much as anything else, and unlearning it is harder than pulling his own teeth. He isn't sure how to express that in words without sounding like he is whining, though, so he takes in the lecture, and files it away for later examination.]

I believe, [he murmurs.] I believe that us so-called Heroes are in the best position to help the downtrodden. But I... [His hand tightens around the little rag until his knuckles turn white, stark even in the soft yellowy light of the lamp.] ... I have seen the ugliness in the higher classes too much to believe anything they say. That is my own failing, and I know that, but I do not think I have the patience or the heart to convince them of anything.

[He wets the rag again, and presses it to the wall. This time he scrubs more languidly.]

I have never been very good at politics. I can say my yes-masters and apologize just enough to ensure I will not be killed where I stand for existing, but that has never spared me grief. [His voice grows quieter, and that brings out the roughness of his voice changing more.]

People are so cruel, Sion. Would it be easier if I was like them? If I was unable to care?