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in time, ingram promises; he was all too happy to speak of sithis, the immortal soul his flesh and bone mortal body played host to, of the void and the voidwraiths and commanders of the past that whispered things in his ear. today, though, i am your student, princess toula.

because he could feel the sweeping presence of obsession for her deathlord osiris taking hold.

fighting it, ingram knew, was useless.

it was like fighting his love for his nightwife, despite how she flickers in and out of his life like a flame.

yes, i understand. ingram assures her with a low chuckle. for there to be life, there must be death. it is useless to fear it when the end is really not even the end.

perhaps a haughty outlook granted to ingram by the illusion of being a god in mortal fleshbone. but even praimfaya's culture believed in reincarnation: a very speculation that he was one such incarnation, perhaps believed even to her dying breath.

and what of your patron goddess, iset? ingram inquires.