You are the night-time fear
Having something, even something as vague as his offer to help, in his future feels oddly grounding. Perhaps it's the allure of purpose, justification, or maybe it's just a need to escape the hazy recollections of a life that seems lost. It's not that he doesn't want to remember, or not find out what has happened since he lost connection, just that the absolutes of it terrify him. How much time has passed? If it were only a handful of years, surely he would've recognized some faces.And had the Order won completely, well—there would've been no Voice to bring him and the others back, and they would not have been welcomed.
So how long?
He pushes it aside, smiles back at her. Surely someone will have maintained a clinic? Then again, perhaps not; the state of the world seems an odd mishmash of peace and ruin.
The story of the Temple's destruction has his pale eyebrows rising. Blaming the Gods was no new thing—but so brazenly, so openly? "I can't decide if I find it bold or stupid," he says mildly in response, the sort of voice that says he is open to being corrected. He's not about to judge someone for heartache and desperation. "Did they listen to him?" Aamu thinks not. Listening isn't something he'd say the Gods he remembers did very well.
He stops with her before the doors of somewhere. His head tilts to the side and he gives a quiet snort, the closest he's come to a chuckle since awakening. "If you'd like," he offers. Truth to be told, he's not averse to the idea, especially not if it can help shed some light on it. Perhaps it's a defect in his wiring? "I think she might tell me things I do not want to know," he confesses wryly, slim fingers tapping lightly against the doorframe. "So I think I will take some time to find my bearings again before I go to see if she has time for me."
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
