@sentinelofterra The energy core pulsed: a slow, familiar rhythm that meant life. Over and over he considered breaking it - could it be broken? Five thousand years and the destruction of Terra had left it unscathed; if the core could be broken, it would take considerable effort. It was an effort he was tempted to exert. He stood in darkness, watching the red pulse of his core wash over the walls of his unlikely shelter, and considered. Who am I? Five thousand years as one man, sixteen years as another. Five thousand years that felt dreamlike and distant, sixteen years that felt as vivid as though they’d happened only yesterday... yet the face he wore now was not the face that felt most familiar. This body was not his, these hands, this core... I did it to protect him. He remembered that now, remembered him now, remembered Neirin as though the king should be at his side this very moment. I took his place to spare him this fate. And yet. And yet. Taharka had lied, Taharka had taken Neirin regardless, and in the torture chambers far below Pandemonium, he had sealed Neirin’s magic, broken his body. And then... Ultima. He remembered it. A quiet demonstration in a dark, ransacked library; an explosion in a tower high above Pandemonium; the Genome casting the spell over and over - Neirin had known that to cast it would be to tear himself apart. He had known. Left for long, he might have sunk deeper into that thought alone, the knowledge that Neirin had gone knowingly to his death - and how very like him, to seize control of his own death! - had something else not stirred at the corner of his awareness. Genome. He flinched as his instincts warred once more - Genome, something to be feared and despised, Genome, something precious to be cherished. He let them fight, let them clash, let them settle out: Genome, tread carefully. This was the first living creature he’d have contact with since awakening, and there was a role to be played here: this Genome came expecting Garland, and Garland must be what it found. He knew this one, found this one in Garland’s hazy memories. The First Sentinel. Its mission, its purpose, he remembered those as well. He could play this role. He could be Garland. It would make his skin crawl, had he much skin left for it. “Sentinel.” He met the creature with a steady gaze. The mask fit imperfectly, but he had always been skilled at slipping easily into unpleasant roles; he could do this, as well. “You are well, I trust?”
