He worked by candlelight, the shadows on his wan face shifting as the magic flame flickered and danced in its glass jar. Domanova, the sage, the hero, the naturalist--he was, once again, alone. He had even turned Charles away eventually, preferring to work alone. His life--and what a lie it was, how unnatural for one to be ressurected in such a way, it was beginning to irk him--was spent alone with his reptiles and plants and rocks and insects.

The air itself seemed to move. The nocturnal creatures he had captured over the last few weeks were stirring in their wooden cages, mewling and chirping and snarling. Black ink blossomed into numbers, figures, diagrams as his quill pen danced along the worn pages of his notebook, miraculously intact after all these years. And again...the thought rose in the back of his head, so sharp and so stinging. Like he'd leaned back and caught his neck in the thorny shrub in the corner.

This was his life.

Was this what he was "destined" to accomplish? Yes, he was making great strides, discovering new species and principles and behaviors. But...he was usually tagging along behind the rest when he went outside, simply ignoring the fighting. But there had been casualties. Human. (Most of which he'd dissected--and he'd found a kidney of a ridiculous size! fascinating!--but that was beside the point.) There was a battle that he should have been embroiled in and a chance to watch the blood flow red, staining Espinne's thorns, that he was not taking.

While he'd repeatedly assured himself that it was for the better--the character that had allowed the return of the heroes was a suspicious one, and he'd much prefer to learn than to associate with THAT--there was a coldness in him that he had never felt before. The solitude shook him to his core, and...what was this feeling? Why did he want to throw himself upon Espinne's barbed vines?

Domanova sighed. He stood and stretched, his muscles stiff from sitting so long. The sage scanned his small makeshift room, filled with the accomplishments of his second life, and the despair set in again.

A tortoise raised its wise eyes and regarded him critically.

"Whoa! That turtle's enormous!! You could sit on its back!!"
"Ahahah! It's a tortoise, John. There is a difference. But--but could we--"
"You kidding? You REALLY need to ask if we can take him? This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen! I would've taken him if you hadn't! Don't ever change, Dommy. Heheh."

There. There it was. Domanova pressed firmly on his temples. Oh, how could he have been such an idiot--Johnathan, dear Johnathan and his wife Selena and the children. He placed a hand on the back of his chair for support. They must be dead after all these years, even if he could somehow return to Elibe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He stumbled outside and lifted his gaze to the stars: for once, not naming constellations in his head.

"My dearest friend..." he whispered hoarsely. "I've missed you. You always did tell me...to stop studying so intensely.

Johnathan. I will be with you soon. I want to see if your daughter became as beautiful as your wife, and if your son had your adventurous streak. The small dog I gave you, how long was he your companion, and how tall was he when fully grown? Please tell me what I have missed.

In the meantime." The sage pulled the dark, leather-bound tome from his robes. "Lend me your fighting spirit, friend.

I will die the way that you wanted to--in battle."