There was something incredibly jarring about seeing Solus be gripped so entirely by grief. Him being completely unable to school his expression in front of Tyler; and even if he didn't have an impossible memory, he knows that he wouldn't forget that expression any time soon.

For all of his posturing and claims to endless, flawless immortality, it made him all too human.

And something in him aches for the man. Tyler has lost as well: nothing so intensely close as children, but he knows the same grief.

(Every time he and Solus talk, he hates him a little less.)

But he only has one real question about everything - and he doesn't even know if Solus is in a fit state to answer.

Did not, or could not? Zodiark held you mind and soul - any sense of devotion you had was trapped focusing on him. His own movements are calm and metered, compared to Solus's affected trembled. Surely you wouldn't grieve for them like this, or be so hurt by your argument with Steven if you truly did not.

He grimaces himself, for a moment, as his mind turns towards the memory of a bronze figure, turning without hesitation, running to his doom to give Tyler a chance at escape.

We are... more than our Keepers make us think we are. Some core part of us is immutable, something the fiercest tempering cannot extinguish. I'm beginning to suspect your empathy is yours.