PSL; [NOLI MANERE]

[supersoldier]

burn me out, leave me on the otherside.

[In another timeline, diverged down an invisible path, the battle was long over.

The dragon’s corpse, still shining emerald green in the haze of the sun, would be pressed unmoving into the ground, its maw still gaping open, tongue lazily hanging over jagged teeth. Two clean cuts, deep into its chest, would ooze hot and coppery ribbons of blood, a color matching the hue plastered across the edge of Masamune. Zack would still have his knees ground into the dirt, hand grasping at a side as he tried to pull himself up; lucky that he’d come away with nothing more than cracked ribs, something healing magic would have to tend to soon. And in the vehicle behind them, still idling, the blond-haired infantryman — Cloud, quiet and sullen and nervous — would be watching, harried, but wise enough to keep his distance. And they would soon carry onwards to their mission to Nibelheim, undeterred.

But in this instance, this strange set of circumstances, the fight does not go so smoothly.

He doesn’t understand why, or how. This creature should be nothing, his blade should cut straight through its hide instead of only managing glancing blows that barely scrape closely-packed scales. A monster should not be this strong, no matter how permeating the Mako leak was in the surrounding area. It’s beyond unnatural, something that has him gritting his teeth beneath a twisted frown as Sephiroth rushes forward, blade flashing.

Zack’s already unconscious, a deep wound bleeding from the shoulder courtesy of the dragon’s claws, body strewn several feet away, now useless in this fight. The creature rises up on its haunches, spreading giant wings as it snarls down at the only moving target, and catches Masamune in its teeth. Sephiroth pushes; it pushes back. He hears footsteps rushing forward from behind him, staggering, panicked breaths drawing closer, and he turns his head just in time to see the infantryman closing the space between them, readying the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder. Sephiroth knows he may as well be heading straight for death.]

Stay back— [Comes the command, in a voice so used to giving them that it hides the jarring reality of the situation — that this is not good, this is unheard of, and judging what may happen from here anyone’s guess. But it’s too late, because there’s pressure clamping down on his blade, and then with a feral twist of the neck, the dragon has snapped his weapon in half with a reverberating ring.

It’s only slight, but his eyes widen. The other half of the blade topples to the ground, his gloved-grip around the hilt falters for just a second, but it’s all the time the dragon needs to lurch up with fire filling its maw.

It’s the last thing he sees, flame and writhing heat all around him, and then the world goes black.

— — — — — —

He has his face pressed into soggy sand. Hair a tangled mess, clothes damp and sticking, as the waves thinly slide over his form. And then he’s jolting awake with a start, fingers pressed into the shore, hefting himself up and immediately tensing, expecting to see fire and teeth as he cranes his neck—

And is met only with a clear blue sky, a bright shining sun, and the scent of the sea. Masamune’s two halves lay half-buried in a mound of sand, one laying flat, the other sticking straight up a short distance away. The hiss of an exhale, trying to bring himself to his feet, disoriented and maybe a little wobbly, head bowed down. (Also unheard of.)

Both confusion and frustration dance in his insides. What’s happening?]

Comments

[katanyaa]

[ Luka is becoming quite familiar with the Isle of Bekko. It’s a good place to keep an eye on the bloody Confederacy and their comings and goings – the Miqo’te does not have enough coin on him to pay the pirates’ self-proclaimed “tithe” just to get across the swiving sea, so he’s resorted to camping out on the beastmen’s island while he thinks up a plan.

The kojin haven’t noticed him, or else they’re content to live and let live as long as Luka doesn’t bother them. Whatever it is, he’s grateful.

Two days into his little stakeout, the tide brings with it the form of a person, their dark garb spotted in the sand of the island’s main cove from Luka’s usual spot on a ridge. That’s closer to the kojin’s home than he likes to go, but he can’t well leave the poor bastard out there, can he? It takes him a bit to get down to the beach, but by the time he’s made the descent, the figure on the sand hasn’t moved. Cat-quiet (ha), he creeps closer, close enough to get a better look. Hyur, he’d guess, and the glint of steel in the sand certainly doesn’t escape his notice, which only serves to pique his curiosity.

He’s almost upon the stranger when he sits bolt-upright with a jerk, startling Luka so badly that he skitters backwards a few stumbling steps that see him falling arse-first onto the sand. No fault of the stranger’s – he seems disoriented, and Luka imagines he would be as well. ]

Oi, you alright?

[supersoldier]

[The startled voice makes him lift head to visually register the stranger now fallen into the sand. Sephiroth probably looks like a wild thing, bangs of silver hair strewn across his face, cat-like pupils focusing sharp on the young man before him. Sand stuck in a layer across the front of black leather, which the salt of the sea has not and will not treat well.

It’s a rare sight, seeing him like this — disjointed, confused, disoriented. But the change of environment is drastic, especially when one was about to be doused in the angry flame of a dragon, that even his SOLDIER training cannot spare him of the indignity of being somewhat out of sorts.]

You—

[But it doesn’t last long. He closes his mouth before it can gape, presses down that confusion and forcefully changes it into the determination of a military man tossed into circumstances unknown, eager to clarify what’s happened. A hand dips down to grab at Masamune’s hilt, lifting it up out of the sand. If there’s a half-pause upon the remembrance of it being snapped in half, the blade jagged at its end, he doesn’t allow it to linger.

He’s closing the gap between them with his long gait, dripping; not that they’re terribly far from each other to start. In his demanding, he's noticed the other's ears, but hasn't really registered it quite yet.]

What's happened? What is this place? Where’s the rest of the convoy?

[DON'T YOU HAVE THE ANSWERS TO THESE BURNING QUESTIONS]

[katanyaa]

[ The good thing about Miqo’te is they’re quick on their feet, hunters with keen reflexes that surpass that of (most) Hyur, so when the stranger gets at last to his feet, Luka isn’t far behind him. Good thing too because it seems the man, who is doing a remarkable impression of a drowned rat, focuses his attention on Luka in a way that he really would rather he not. ]

Whoa, whoa there!

[ There’s half a second where he considers going for his own blade, the katana at his hip that sits at odds with the rest of his garb, but ultimately, he opts to backpedal instead. Now that he’s over his initial surprise, he keeps his footing in the sand. ]

One thing at a time, yeah? I just found you in the sand, that’s all!

[supersoldier]

[He's noted the katana hanging at the other's hip, his trained instinct to assess all manner of threat in every waking second of an unexpected situation. Yet despite how wretched he might look, does not feel threatened; instead, it takes self-control to tamp down the urge to be intimidating beyond his usual measure, in order to wring out answers from this stranger.

Because Sephiroth, even in moments like these, especially in moments like these, is observant. The confusion across the stranger's face seems genuine, nearly as harried as how he had felt waking up with his face in the sand. It's enough to dull the fire in his chest, to lessen the fierce command-like intonation of his voice.

By a little, at least.

Most importantly is the fact that Sephiroth keeps hold of his broken blade but does not use it. He stands with his boots planted to the shore and his eyes trained on the man.]

I'll ask you again. Where am I?

[And given the tiny amount of patience he's allowing himself, it makes room for him to finally notice those... ears? The flick of a tail? Who was this young man? Dressed in some manner of costume? It does little to ease his confusion.]

[katanyaa]

[ If it’s a costume, it’s very realistic, because those ears and that tail move. A twitch of the tail to flick sand from the fur, a swivel of the ears as they rise from their folded back position now that it seems like the silver-haired man isn’t going to gut him where he stands – for now, at least. ]

This is the Isle of Bekko, in the Ruby Sea.

[ Crimson-colored eyes take a moment to sweep over the stranger from his boots to the top of his head. He sure is dressed oddly. Black leather is certainly not the preferred mode of dress for the natives of Kugane. An ijin, a foreigner, if Luka had his guess. That does very little to explain those eyes, but for the moment Luka is left to assume that this man has a little Seeker in him and leave it at that. ]

The hells happened? Did you get thrown of the pier in Kugane?

[supersoldier]

[He’s earned himself a traveling companion in this last month, something he never thought he’d have to entertain in his lifetime. Sephiroth is used to missions, to partnering up with fellow SOLDIERs, to do what is required of him only to detach himself from their company the moment he’s met with success. But this is different — his time with Luka is an unknown that has no definable end, not until they can find out just how to send him back to Gaia, traveling these foreign lands in search of a mage who might can put them on the right path.

It’s odd, being around someone this long, this constantly. Sephiroth is a solitary animal — he was born and raised that way, placed on a pedestal by the company, and expected to stand there alone and adulated. Not since his training in his younger years has he spent so much casual time around another, and even in those days he would retire to his solitary chambers back at headquarters, to fall asleep to the faint hum of fluorescent lights and encased by impersonal, steel walls.

It’s tiring — Luka is tiring, if not to his body, then to his mind, the latter more suited to introversion than brash behavior, or loud declarations, or the fount of energy that rolls off of him in waves. Yet he finds that it is endurable, and then later he finds it is manageable, and now— Well, perhaps now he finds that it is preferable. (Genesis, Angeal, Zack; company he preferred, would have called friends, the few who pierced the veil past arms-length isolation, and drew closer than most. It isn’t dissimilar.)

Today’s day of traveling has come to its end. Setting up camp was easy enough, the fire blazing before them, casting an orange-glow across the planes of his features. The green of his eyes, also faintly alight in the shadow, fade as he trails his gaze downwards, reaching back to gather up his hair and slide it over his shoulders and in front of him.]

How far is the next town?

[Pinching the fingertips of his gloves and pulling them off, the reason why he asks is soon apparent. With bare hands, he runs them through silver strands so long that they pool at his hip where he sits. Catching against tangles, he frowns at the tugging sensation against his scalp.

How far is the next town? he’s asked, so he can know when he can get his appearance sorted without being assailed by constant outdoor travel.]

[katanyaa]

[ A quest for vengeance is a lonely thing, and Luka is learning – or perhaps he always knew and simply chose to forget – that he isn’t built for solitude. Keepers of the Moon like himself may not be half as social as their Seeker cousins but Luka can scarce remember a time when he was well and truly on his own. Even after the death of his mother, when Luka felt alone, he never truly was. His sisters were always there, trying to comfort him despite the grief that turned him inside-out and left him wild and mean.

And then he met Sensei, the older man stepping into Luka’s life to fill a void that had so desperately needed filling. There was scarcely a time when Luka was far from his side, always learning, always growing, always basking in the warm glow of the other’s kindness. Sensei’s death still scraped him raw, but he found determination in that grief. A drive. A quest. And, for the first time, true loneliness, until an unlikely traveling companion quite literally washed up on the beach.

He and Sephiroth are as different as night and day, the other man’s quiet intensity sitting at odds with Luka’s bright, devil-may-care sort of attitude. Somehow, they make it work. Somehow, teasing jabs become a mark of fondness, of a slowly burgeoning friendship, and more often than not, Luka is glad for Sephiroth’s presence, no-nonsense and taciturn as he may be.

The hills of Yanxia are vast. On one side of the wall carved into the cliff-face, farmers and simple folk learning to scrape their lives back together after the end of the Garlean occupation, on the other a sprawling river, its shores scarred with the marks of battle. Beasts and beastmen and the ruins of old magitek call this place home now. And for tonight, so does Luka and his traveling companion. ]

Hm. Still a couple days off, according to that farmer.

[ Luka’s eyes, previously fixed on the stars, flick over to his friend. (And what a funny thing, to consider the other man a friend.) His gaze follows the silvery waterfall that is Sephiroth’s hair, watches as his fingers catch on tangles, and he breathes out an amused sound. ]

You really ought to just tie it back so it stops getting like that, y’know?

[supersoldier]

I’ve never had to tie it back before. At least not since I was much younger.

[He admits that much with his gaze still fastened to the ground near his boots, with that distant look of someone focused on a task — his fingers catch in another tangle, and Sephiroth frowns, working slender fingers through it.]

Shinra doesn’t send a convoy of SOLDIERs parading throughout the wilderness days on end. There’s always a temporary base to return to, or a transport vehicle waiting for pick-up.

[Finally, he lifts his eyes to fix on Luka across the way, head still at a tilt, tone gone dry — but humor dances along its edges.]

It isn’t my fault this world is backwater.

[He’s being purposefully ironic, too. This place has a beauty that Midgar cannot hope to match; that city is a dark array of steel, nights turned green from the generators working non-stop to siphon energy from the planet. It writhes with poverty, the poor whose homes act as literal foundations for the rich living above.

No, though being surrounded by nature is constantly odd, the life of the city embedded in his bones, he thinks he’s come to appreciate it a small bit.]

[katanyaa]

[ In response to the dry remark, Luka lets out a snort, the sound going for derisive but missing the mark thanks to the grin on Luka’s face. Sephiroth’s sense of humor could give the deserts of Thanalan a run for their money, but he’s learned to take what little he can get. ]

Yeah? And it’s not my fault you can’t even comb your own hair outside a fancy military base or whatever.

[ From what little he’s heard about Sephiroth’s world, it sounds wholly different from his own, save for Garlemald, probably. Not that Luka has ever been to the Imperial capital (and nor does he plan on it) but bits of Garlemald can be found everywhere – especially in Doma.

He watches Sephiroth work a moment longer, wincing a bit in sympathy as his fingers catch another tangle. ]

You want a hand with that? It wouldn’t get to be such a mess if you kept it in a braid I bet.

[supersoldier]

Hm.

[A twitch of a grin, faint and lost in the shadows that jitter in time with the campfire. He brings his attention back to his fingers and hair, the prospect of straightening it out completely looking more and more like a pipe dream.]

No one’s ever called me spoiled before.

[Fancy military bases, indeed.

Still, his instinct is to deny Luka’s offered help. He’s never had anyone do so much as touch his hair (except when he was a child, but it was shorter then, too), no one bold enough to really consider doing such a thing to a man made to seem perfectly untouchable. But those expectations, the ones that dictate his own actions more than he likes, are dampened here. Non-existent. He cannot use that as an excuse, blaming only his tendency to keep to his own personal space if he denies the other man.

But— well. With one more tug against his scalp, he thinks that maybe he can offer his traveling companion some leeway. He did see him akin to a drowned rat just a month ago, after all.]

Are you offering to braid all of this hair for me?

[katanyaa]

[ The city of Doma proper is abandoned and crumbling into ruin, having been trampled by the invading Garleans when they came for the royal family some twenty five years ago. Decades later, the castle itself was destroyed and sunk into the river, a ploy by the Doman prince to oust the invaders from his home – and it worked, too. Now the effort to rebuild is underway and going slowly, so for the time being, the ruins of Doma have been left on the river’s edge to rot. No one calls the crumbling structures home aside from strange beasts, and a few enterprising namazu.

There’s something about the silhouetted structures, sitting still and silent in the early-morning mist drifting off the river, that creeps Luka out. But he’s never been one to believe in ghost stories, and through the remnants of the city is the quickest way to get where they’re going.

Nature is slowly beginning to reclaim the hard-packed dirt roads of the city, and Luka hops over the root of a tree, stretching itself partway across the thoroughfare. ]

Sensei tells me this place was something special back in the day. I wish I coulda seen it.

[supersoldier]

[As always, he is a stranger in a strange land. The horizon ever stretches forward, filled with ruins, environments, creatures he never thought he would see. The namazu are particularly strange and cartoonish, and Sephiroth simply does not know what to think of them.

Perhaps more poignantly, however, there is something off about the structures looming about them, crumbled and despairing into the river. The ghost of battle lives in this place; that he can see, read it as clearly as printed word on a page. Even as nature works to reclaim the roads, edging into their path, he is a man of war, and the consequences are painted bright for a trained SOLDIER’s eyes.

He steps over a gnarled root, his step careful.]

What happened to it?

[katanyaa]

[ The namazu are best given a wide berth, honestly. They’re a bit too much for even Luka, and would just as soon swindle he and Sephiroth out of every bit of coin they have as look at them. ]

The Garlean Empire happened.

[ The Empire itself has been but a brief footnote in Luka’s quick lessons about the world Sephiroth now finds himself in. Invaders. Assholes. Overly fond of magitek. Just about every crater that peppers the landscape, every rusting piece of machinery jutting from the dirt can be attributed to the Empire. ]

They invaded Doma a long time ago, before I was even born. The castle used to be over there, I think.

[ He makes a broad motion with his hand, indicating a mess of rubble and broken pillars jutting from the river in the distance. ]

[supersoldier]

[Yes, the sunken pillars do look like pieces of what was once a castle, even if Sephiroth can only rely on his imagination. Midgar’s structures were far different, but a storybook castle, made of stone and made to stand tall, was a universal concept, even to his industrial-city-hailing mind.]

It looks like they were successful.

[A powerful empire invading another region, likely for the sake of more power — as all invasions often are. Sounds rather, well, familiar.]

Did they invade because they wished to expand their territory? Or was this a pivotal location in an on-going campaign?

[katanyaa]

I dunno, really. Like I said, this was all before I was born. I’m pretty sure Garlemald just wants to own everything.

[ Why? He has no clue, but he would wager at least part if it just boils down to “because they can”. ]

Doma’s free again now, but it’s only been that way for a few moons at most. The stories say the Doman prince sunk the castle into the river to get rid of the Imperial Viceroy.

[ That sounds cool as heck, honestly, but he really would have liked to see the castle while it was still standing. Idly, he kicks a bit of rubble and sends it skidding over the dirt a ways. ]

I never set foot out of Kugane until Garlemald was already long gone from here.

tfln continued!

[katanyaa]

[ from here. ]

[ Luka can't help but stare at those messages for a very long while. Perhaps he had a little too much to drink tonight, and feelings he keeps carefully buried are rising to the surface. He doesn't generally broadcast his insecurities, but here's Sephiroth, giving him an earnest reply when he really should be telling Luka to sleep it off.

He appreciates that probably more than he can say right now. ]

youre right. of course youre right.

when my ma died, i took it real hard. i hated everyone and everything like the whole world was responsible for taking her away. i got into fights everywhere i went, pushed my own family away. if you could see me the way i was back then, its like i was a different person.

when i met sensei that was the first time in a long time i felt like i had a sense of direction. he gave me purpose. now hes gone too and sometimes its easy to fall back on old habits and act like all i am is a screw up.

[supersoldier]

[Another long and lengthy pause.

And finally, a reply.]

I know how frightening it is to lose your purpose. I’ve considered severing mine, too, back home. [Luka is only the second person he’s admitted this to, but for the sake of this conversation, it feels necessary.] But there’s a reason why I cling to what I know — for now, at least. Because it’s easy. It’s familiar.

But you’re stronger than that, Luka. You aren’t a screw-up. You’ve embarked on this quest to right the wrongs done against you because you feel that loss poignantly. Be honest with yourself: beyond the occasional slip-up, will you discard all you’ve been taught just because your teacher is dead? Would you want to?

[katanyaa]

[ There's so much to unpack here. Sephiroth's admission of his waning loyalty to Shinra catches his attention first, but then there's more, and perhaps it is the alcohol but everything goes blurry suddenly as tears sting the corner of Luka's eyes. ]

you think im strong?

[ No one's ever said that to him before, and now that he's seen Sephiroth's full strength brought to bear, it feels like an impossible compliment. ]

[supersoldier]

Yes.

[It's true, Luka's strength might seem middling compared to his. But Sephiroth has always been the great exception to every rule, something he both takes pride in keeps him so detached from everyone else.

But being on a different level allows him a different perspective. He knows raw talent when he sees it. He can always spot when a 3rd Class SOLDIER will make it to 2nd, and even 1st. There is more to strength than physical prowess, there is more to skill than dexterity. It is also a matter of willpower and that ineffable something that makes a warrior great on the battlefield, sparking in the heat of conflict.

He's seen that from him, too.]

But you do not need me to reaffirm something that you should already know for yourself. Nothing dulls a blade faster than self-doubt. Keep it at bay.

[katanyaa]

you know nobodys ever said that to me before. thanks.

[ Sensei would probably smack him upside the head for getting down like this, and Luka's used to that kind of tough love. There's a little bit of it in Sephiroth, too, but there's... something else, too. An understanding, familiarity born of their friendship, and it is that which resonates with Luka the most.

He scrubs at his watery eyes with the back of his hand, glad that at least Sephiroth can't see him crying. ]

hey, are you seriously thinking about leaving shinra?

welcome to midgar.

[supersoldier]

[The glass enclosure is cold, sterile, with a single bed for Luka to lay on and spartan furnishings beyond that. It is not made of comfort, but only the bare minimum required to live. Harsh fluorescent lights buzz above, and the view of the laboratory is visible past the glass, where instruments beep and lit charts flicker in rhythm to unknown statistics.

He is left alone for a long while, stripped of any possessions, somehow dressed in plain white, threadbare clothing. When he awakens, there is no one there to meet him. The alien environment is silent but for the lab’s metronomic noises, and if Luka tries very hard to scrutinize his surroundings, he may spot a far window that reveals the view of a dark-steeled city from high above.

This is the 68th floor of the Shinra building, and the view under any other circumstances would be darkly impressive.

Thirty minutes pass before muffled footsteps and the hiss of a door sliding open heralds the presence of a black-haired man in a white lab coat. He has sharp grin and a cruel look in his eyes, hidden barely by darkened spectacles.]

Finally awake? [-he says, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.] Good, you’ve made me wait long enough.

thanks i hate it

[katanyaa]

[ Luka doesn't remember much. After the witch – some auri woman in a swamp. She had too much hat and not enough teeth – things are kind of fuzzy. There was some mumbo jumbo about telling Sephiroth to think of home, to remember the exact moment he left, and then the whol room hat surged with aether. Some kind of tear or portal or something opened on one end of the room, and all at once it felt like someone had grabbed Luka by the navel and hurled him off a cliff. Wind rushed past his ears, lights flared in his vision and he had the brief and unpleasant sensation of his knees slamming onto cold steel, and then his world went dark.

He sort of drifted to consciousness now and again, but the instant the bright lights assaulted his vision, he'd squeeze his eyes shut and drift under again.

Now he's well and truly awake, and he spends longer squinting at the ceiling and trying to recall what in the seven hells just happened than he'd care to admit.

He hadn't... gone through the portal too, had he? That's impossible, right? He wasn't anywhere near the damn thing, and just because he was really starting to think that he would miss Sephiroth's company, like, a lot, he wasn't so foolhardy as to fling himself in there too. Blasted witch must have messed something up.

He spends a good while pacing around the room, anxiety swirling around in his gut as it becomes very apparent that he's being kept prisoner. He pounds on the walls of his cell a bit, yells and curses for someone to let him out of this swiving room or so help him, but there is no answer. Only sterile white and the hum of the lights above. Is this really Sephiroth's world? Fuck.

At long last, someone comes in, and Luka steps away from the class walls of his cage, fists balled and fangs bared as he grits his teeth. ]

You're one to talk. I been awake for a while.

i'm rping hojo, this is suffering on both sides

[supersoldier]

[That earns him nothing more than a sneering chuckle from the scientist, who seems to twist Luka’s frustration into his own amusement. Vaguely slouching shoulders shake with the effort.]

Of course, now you have been. But you’ve been drifting in and out for a while. Ever since we found both you and Sephiroth sprawled unconscious in the middle of the Science Department, like presents dropped on our doorstep! Only now do you seem lucid enough to stand and speak; and it’s been three days.

[Three days since every piece of technology in the Science Department had gone haywire, readings spiking and gauges spinning into incomprehensible measurements. And then, lo and behold, the Legendary SOLDIER himself had returned (albeit in a less graceful way than most had ever seen the man, how funny, he thinks), with a stranger who had tagged along for the ride.

A biological curiosity, an unexpected variable that none knew what to do with, but they were heretofore blessed with the freedom to do whatever they liked. He always takes delight in indulging himself.

The scientist takes another step forward, leaning in closer to the glass, narrowing his eyes in scrutiny at Luka. His ears, his tail.]

Now that you’re awake, I can finally ask you a few questions. You may as well sit down and make yourself comfortable.

[katanyaa]

[ Three days? Seven hells, what did that swamp witch do to him?

Luka's gaze only narrows. He can feel his nails biting into his palms, fists clenched tightly at his sides in nervousness and anger. His wild guess was not so wild after all, he'd been dumped here right alongside Sephiroth, only Sephiroth's world doesn't have miqo'te in it. These eggheads probably think he's worth dissecting, but he'll be damned before he lets that happen.

But even before his own safety, there is one thing on his mind, ]

What happened to Sephiroth? Where is he?

[ Probably fine, given how much he means to these people, but he has to be sure. ]

[supersoldier]

[That question causes eyebrows to lift, telling in its own right. The patronizing smile doesn't fade.]

I'm the one who's supposed to be asking questions. Sephiroth isn't your concern, not one bit... oh, but I'll humor you. He recovered quickly, as expected, ushered back into containment for a day to run a few tests. To make sure everything is running at baseline, as usual.

[He waves a hand dismissively, like swatting away a fly of a thought.]

He's out now, of course. Standard procedure despite the circumstances. We've tried questioning him, but, well... he's in a mood.

[But they'll wring their answers out eventually. The boy was stubborn in his own way, but he had no reason to withhold information after a readjustment period. Not when he was made to believe that he reappeared alone, not with his strange friend(?) in tow.

A quickly crafted but purposefully useful lie. He didn't need him poking around in here with no reason other than useless camaraderie.]

He did say he was in another world, however. Just by looking at you, I take it that's not a lie? Or do you not have any idea where you are?