[ he resists that gentle push, for a moment. he seems poised to act, like a man on the brink: whether of putting up a fight to go to her, or of moving to follow amos, is unclear for a moment. it's unclear even to him. the little girl calls for him by name again, kassa, kassa, speaks even more urgently, and his hands curl tighter into fists, nails drawing blood from his palms. how can he walk away from her, and live with himself?

how did he do it the first time?

he opens his eyes and drinks in one last look at her, the ghost from his past. the girl who is not really here, because nothing about that makes sense. because he knows, on some level of cold rationality, that this is a trick of magic. even if he doesn't want to know. then, slowly, he makes himself turn the way amos is ushering him.

this is not the first time he's had to take his pain with both hands and fold it into something small enough to not interfere with his mission objective. and that's what starwatcher's spire is, isn't it? the blight, here in kenos. a mission objective. something to understand, find, eliminate. he's killed and betrayed and sabotaged and had to solve the next problem before the blood had even cooled. he's successfully flown out of dangerous situations under fire no matter what impact the situations had on him. his face tips downwards, for a moment, and then he finds that old cold remove. or some semblance of it, anyway, gripped with white-knuckled fingers. he nods before answering: see, he's listening, see, he agrees. ]

With time, they'll figure out the technology we're used to. [ he really does believe that. these astronomers are nothing if not passionate. ] But in the meantime, it's important we do what we can to help them.