[Mr. Manners here has “welcome wagon” written all over him. He certainly has the attentive, helpful charm part down perfectly, which usually would make Demeisen itch to push his buttons, but for the time being suits his purposes just fine. He actually doesn’t seem all that different from the avian gentleman who had so nicely helped Demeisen settle into Yima’s manor after he’d first arrived, and everything about that interaction went quite swimmingly.]

A whole year, eh? I should’ve come to you first!

[He smiles, sucks on his drug pipe as though it might do literally anything for him. Sebastian is right, of course; a year isn’t very long at all, especially in a situation as abrupt and unreal as this one. Time can be made to flow differently in sims, compared to the real. He might spend a whole decade locked in this cosmic (and yet laughably small-scale) conflict, only to wake up in his physical body to find that only hours had passed.

Though he’s still coming up empty on how or why he’d suddenly find himself in a simulation like this to begin with, given what he’d been right in the middle of doing beforehand. Still, the alternatives are dire enough that he’s in no hurry to rule that one out.]

I’ve talked to locals, of course—lovely people, very eager to be of assistance—but almost no other “shard-bearers.” And smooth though my arrival was, the bod who received me initially didn’t have your loquacity. He was a bit sparse on details.