It isn't what it was then, Myr reminds himself, putting all the considerable focus he has into that. Into listening to Six's reassurance, and noting every single thing around them that makes this different from Hasmal Circle of four years past. He's awake and lucid; he'd been nightmare-wracked then. This is Kirkwall's library, not Hasmal's forecourt. There is no crowd of defenders or fleeing rebels; there's only Six and an echo of her god. This isn't then.

This isn't then. This isn't then. Myr swallows thickly and shuts his eyes against nearby motion as the thing draws inexorably closer. Draws itself up in a way that hurts the eye and wavers there as a fleshy peduncle as Six steps forward, tipping the top part of its mass to and fro as if considering her. It does not come any closer but neither does it retreat.

"They didn't." Myr's voice is little more than a husk even for all the effort he's putting into not shutting down. Not running again. Trust Six. Have faith. This isn't then. "They didn't hurt me. Last time."

He'd done all that himself. "--What else does she ask of you? Sarenrae. Tell me again."