exits into daylight, spraygun hid

"And you are...divinely ordained?"

"Was."

The shape, murky yet structured in the orange fog that cast ghastly against its own purple, spoke with a certain sort of marshalled - perhaps martialed? - righteous shame. It admitted to an error, and perhaps also the indiscernible fold of that error in the fact that some erroneous instructions had been followed, but not the fault, the generation, in and of itself.

"How long ago?"

Hours? Weeks?

"Well...I'd say centuries."

Such an oblique murmur deserved such an odd response. Kallian could not mourn, dignified, without elucidation, and yet...

It was quite a transparent sorrow.