He had been well aware of the consequences of joining himself with the Tower, though he had not expected to survive the full extent of the plot he and the Ironworks had set into motion. A century of awareness longer than his mere twenty-four years of age, barring the two hundred he slept away, had been a daunting task to himself, though he was not alone.

In truth, he could not blame Emet for recreating a city that he had once known, people he had once loved. To be left alone for so long would have driven anyone mad. Despite having lived through the horrors that were the Seventh and then the Eighth Umbral Calamities and what it did to him and his worlds, he felt for the man. It was strange, that empathy. Not enough to sway him, but strange all the same.

"Time is all we ever truly have. I do not expect I should see the number of years, of generations, of civilizations that you have, but we do not know. None can predict a future, only hope to shape it."