[ Momentarily, there is a spike of sentiment: where are you taking him, and the rush of threatening heat that boils up within Set. He leverages the blame at Dark, as Lucien vanishes in his hands — the guttering feeling of a sickness in his stomach the only sign that even the mental shift in favor of Dark is of any alarm to Set. ( He pushes it aside, leaves it in his wake. Approaches on silent feet, with a gait that betrays nothing further than that spark of protectiveness.

Briefly, his nose wrinkles. A little distasteful at the absolute state of undress this man is in — he remembers him, the prolific sorcerer. The kidnapper of his property, Rudbeckia de Borgia. The coward who swapped himself with a child — though, Set is assembling the image that perhaps it was not cowardice that lead to that end. If they both exist in the space of Communion, then... ]

We did not properly introduce ourselves, when last we met. You are quite the adept sorcerer, Dark.

[ — their skirmish in Alenroux is done. The people who died have been served. He holds no grudge against this man, and acknowledges him freely. The way that, perhaps, Dark acknowledges him. Is he known? Or — ]

Did someone tell you about me, then? Others speak of 'alternates' and 'parallels', but I am the one and only Set. Of this I am sure.