With the heartening sight of that smile, and the blue gleam in that raised arm, Viktor's posture sags gratefully. This isn't simply a ride he's being sent, it's a reprieve from the battle between physicality and persistence. Crossing on his own steam would be excruciating on every level—and of course he'd have tried it anyway. Some things don't require self-knowledge to remain true.

In the shadow of the machine, now spinning up to movement, triumph's yield to worry goes completely unnoticed. He is particularly interested in the state of the construct as it steps on the tiles, toggling his attention between the hinged feet and the helm high above, the glowing suggestion of eyes within, just as he'd observed his companion's first experimental steps.

"It's unaffected," he says, though it's obvious enough without his commentary. The construct obediently and steadily crosses to him, treading upon stone and metal plates alike, not a single twitch out of stride. "That's promising." Exemption on a technicality? It won't be his feet on those tiles.

Mounting up takes a little coordination, necessary commands back and forth. Call and response has worked for them so far—that and they oughtn't risk a botched toss putting the rod in the middle of the evil floor—

"OK." At last, he's up. "Call it back."