"In a way, those who partook in the ritual got what they wanted. The Ascended are mortal, but do not age. They are close to their god, and to his hunger. Yet the ascendants made one mistake in their calculations, one that, hm… what year is it now?"
"You don't know? It's twenty-twenty two."
Zeke—or his illusion, I suppose—stares at the wall above me for several seconds. "Time flies… Almost two centuries. It's hard to keep up with some things, especially as bound as I am. Your presence, Maya, makes it easier for me to perceive things; but until your arrival, I had to satiate myself with scraps of impressions and dreams."
I finish my sandwich while Zeke talks, and make myself a second one. Now I look down at it, but my thoughts are not on the unappetizing abomination of sandwich-making, but on how boring life must've been for Zeke.
