like the river joins the ocean

"Most fascinating. You were not built into Origin."

Humanity is, of course, so easily fascinated. Constantly. Any aberration ensnares the consciousness, whether explicitly or implicitly.

"Your fear lies unrecorded."

Z is no dancing deity, wrapping itself about Khanoro's stout fingers that once clutched Aureus's balcony railing. Instead, Z is a multi-manifest mirror against the silent shadows stowed within Origin: Arglas, perhaps, though he was not a citizen of Agniratha, just as Torna's last king. Addam and Kallian, as well, though they did not mark themselves equal in nobility.

And here stands the clog-clad, sharp of sword and bouldered of body as mind.

"What would you have me do, Z?"

(Many a time he had asked the question of his half-brother, and received no actionable response.)

"Desist," answers Z simply. "As all who oppose the flow must."

"I was weak."

"You did not cling."

"I am but a figment in their proud memory," the king admits. He might wish to bow his head, but Z demands eye contact, when surrender it has not yet won. "I am now whatever I was made to be, throughout time since passed. Much more in tarnish was made of Addam's legacy."

"You are nothing," Z corrects. "To the souls of Aionios that exist solely within the flow of Moebius's desires, you are as less than a myth."

From Khanoro issues a subtle but potent noise of dissatisfaction. "And thus, what would you have me do?"

"I would study you. In your ultimate lack of consequence."