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"Rasalased," said Hector, "an Age is a really long time, you know. What exactly has you so curious here? I mean, what do you hope to find?"

The Dry God fell briefly quiet. "A way forward," he said.

Hmm. He'd been meaning to ask Rasalased what he knew about Fusion Forges for a while now, but there was still one other matter that he felt to be more pressing. "Hey, uh... while I've got you, do you think you could locate the rest of the Sandlords?"

"Ah... you would seek out my scattered kin and protect them, too?"

"Er. Yeah."

"Very kind of you. And quite bold. You invite much danger with such an endeavor."

"I... am aware of that."

"Heh. Or perhaps you are hoping to bring them to heel while they are weak? To make them not only dependent upon you, but forever grateful for it, too?"

"Rasalased, what--?"

"I jest. I know your heart, Young Hector. Your mind may be a mystery to me now, but I shall not forget what I saw of you during our first encounter."

Hector didn't know what to say to that.

"I speak in jest, but others will not. Should you continue down this path, there will come much turmoil."

Mm. What else was new, Hector thought?

"I warn you. My kin are greatly fractured now. This most recent blow has struck them deeply. At their faith in one another. I fear they may not recover."

That surprised him. "Really? You think it's that bad?"

"No, I do not think it. But I fear it. As many of them currently do. Their souls wither in isolation and doubt. I sense their collective sorrow from afar, and it bleeds into my own. A great mess of confusion."

"I'm... sorry to hear that." He didn't much care for this pessimistic streak from Rasalased, though. "But your people have come back from worse. A lot worse."

"Indeed we have. But not for many, many years."