[ He's not in a good place for that kind of comfort. Not here, where all he can do is build himself back up again from nothing because there's literally nothing left of his accomplishments. He's not sure which is worse: to have his achievements extant but sullied, or to have them erased completely. Both are terrible for a man who just wants to have an impact on the world ...

Though, if Byerly is correct, he will recover. If he goes home. If here is a home to return to. ]

Poetic justice, I suppose. I'd been severely drunk that night, mourning my own life and uncertain of how to go on. I stared up at the stars and pleaded with the universe to let me go back and undo something. Undo this whole mess.

[ And he'd gotten his wish. Like something out of a Barrayaran fairytale, cruel irony intact. ]