Now there's a question he chooses not to answer: it's so personal and deep he's absolutely disinterested in discussing it in any depth whatsoever. If it were his choice, he would be so much more than lost.

He'd be dead. He never asked to be... reborn, reanimated: the taste he had of death was comfort enough in a vast sea of unhappiness and... the concept of being lost is tempting. But like death, it's something Chaos won't allow for him: in all his travels across his home world, he's unerringly put one foot in front of the other and moved swiftly and effectively toward his target. At first he thought it was a remnant of old Turks training but he's learned differently. Chaos's sense of direction is unerring, flawless, and brings him where he -- it -- wants to go... at least on his own planet.

When he turns to answer Maya, he's impassive as ever. Thoughts burn, but they do so privately. "Everybody does, from time to time."

That's what he'll admit to at the moment.

"And you?"

In the lake, something -- some creature -- laps at the surface rhythmically. The sound is almost soothing.