That night, as Altair sat in his bed, he felt a little puzzled. He hadn't known Zero long, but there was a level of cold precision in his action that seemed missing from Zelos—a seriousness that would often signal greatness. Zelos, at least to his perception, seemed… normal—too normal to be a disciple of Zero, whom Azura had compared to be Mephisto's equal.
He frowned, pulling himself off his empty bed. Sleep was not on his mind tonight, so he pulled himself outside, towards the cool air cascading across the Serpents Outreach. The seven moons shone brightly, illuminating stardust across the endless night.
Normally, he would not have sought out the comforts of sleep, but he felt unusually weary that night, as if he were drowning in a vat of endless knowledge, filling his lungs until they wanted to pop. His head ached with such activity that it could render mortals immobile.
