[ In the wreckage of the Manor, Set stands. The Communion message lingering between all Shard-Bearers as he awaits the repercussions of his actions; outside of the mind, his expression is somber, severe, like he is truly considering what has just happened and what it means to have done it. What it will mean for his tenuous relationships with his precious few Zenite companions, the ones he has fought whole of heart to remain important to, a path for. This destruction was targeted, and robbing them of their Lady might be enough to stir their hearts.

Which is why, when he hears the shuffle of debris behind him, he doesn't quite turn before he speaks the name: ] Gen.

[ It has to be him. It's always him, lingering and angry, distraught and so very, very lost.

Until this point, he has come to him to purge his Discord. To gently stroke through his hair and breathe in the scent of his bitter cigarettes, thumbs seeking the join of prosthetic limb and flesh to soothe the ache from carrying around the equipment all day long. Warming his bed, warming him, attending to his faith in their promise. He adores him so much, this terrible, rotten boy who wants to die, who could be anything or nothing and he would be,

so very loved, by Set.

When he turns, he smiles. Small and apologetic, for him alone. ]

Am I the best choice for you, yet? Have you come to see the lengths I will go, to prove to you how much more I want to be here for you than anyone else ever could?