Page 4034

The vault. His precious sanctuary from Ettol. The place deep within his psyche that he relied on in order to conceal his most important things. Everything he'd just retrieved from it needed to be returned there or discarded totally--along with everything new that he'd just learned, of course.

Above all, keeping Sermung's secrets was paramount. Not that the man needed his help with it. Tenebrach was more than capable enough. Jonah knew that even if he himself took no precautions to purge or protect his knowledge of the Crystal Titan, that reaper will have already done it for him.

Tenebrach was truly remarkable. Without a doubt, there was no psychic, living or dead, whom Jonah admired more. He could only hope to be of comparable mastery, one day.

But of course, that would also mean that Ettol...

Bah. He could agonize over it some other time. It was time to retreat. While he didn't necessarily want to leave the meeting with his old friends entirely in Ettol's hands, it was better to play it safe. Go dormant. Cover his tracks. Rely on old scars. Keep awareness to a minimum.

Yes.

Yes...

Mm.

Hmm.

Germal stirred.

Sitting on a stone bench by the wall.

Jonah had given up control, eh?

Naturally. The poor lad couldn't maintain himself for very long. Germal did indeed pity him, hateful though he was.

What had he gotten up to in this place all by himself?

Musings on the past, apparently. Sifting through more of Ettol's ancient memories, of course. Perhaps that should have been concerning, but there was so much go through that it hardly--

No.

Wait.

What was this feeling?

An unnamed anger.

That wasn't coming from Jonah. That was in Ettol's own heart.

Why?

Ettol wasn't like Jonah. This wasn't baseless. He didn't hold grudges for no reason.

There was something residual. A lingering trace. But of what? Too meager to tell with any certainty.

And yet just enough to know its essence.

Deception.

He'd lost something, just now. Had it taken from him. By Jonah?

Of course by him. Who else?

It never ended. It was never going to. Not until Ettol learned his lesson.

Sympathy? Pity?

Thrown in his face, every time. Used against him, every time.

What, then, was to be done? What, Jonah?

Nothing to say? No words of defense? Not even angry ones?

Silent treatment.

Or exhaustion?

Ettol burned.

Like never before, he felt it. True hatred for his other self.

Fine, Jonah.

Let us do things your way, then.