( The smile soothes something in Mydei's chest -- he is aware that Phainon does not let expectations wear him down, he knows too that Phainon will not break under the weight of it, but that does not mean he does not stumble under it all. Mydei understands, of course, though his burden was less than the weight of the world and more easily solved. But Phainon's resilience is what makes him their Deliverer more than the lack of his flaws, more than the golden blood in his veins; they both should have known that he was not meant for Strife and save the man from the humiliation of defeat in the trial. Yet he cannot shake the feeling that Phainon is... perhaps not hiding something from him, but not saying what occupies his mind so that he lapses into silence.

There is nothing Mydei can say that will make the other man talk about the things he'd rather keep close to his chest, but there is something he can do if he does not offer it up -- he makes a mental note to challenge him to a spar or some other contest in short order, and question him that way. And he is about to do so when the other man seems to come back to himself, a brow raised as his only question at the moment before Phainon continues.

His first instinct is to chastise Phainon -- he knows why, but then his eye catches on the little machine, and he can't help but scoff. )

HKS. ( But there is fondness in it, gratitude for the question without bite. ) That my people will survive and finally find a new meaning for their lives, just as I have.

( The ServiTron, halfway satisfied, manages to get closer to them without being pushed back, and places one strange hand on the back of their heads, attempt to encourage them to press their foreheads together and ruining Mydeimos' honest confession with a friendly "Now tHE twO mUST pRess theIr heADs TOgetHER foR The prOCesS to be ComPLETE." )

What sort of damned thing--

( But his head is pushed forward all the same. )