That shouldn't make sense. It really shouldn't. Just like fire ponies and electric beetle transportation shouldn't make sense. And yet here they are. So Sylvain can only let out a tired and resigned laugh. Accept it. It's easier. And it makes some of the apprehension bleed out of the tense way it knots his stomach.

"Sorry I spoiled the surprise for you then. We did it though. Alive and only a little worse for wear." A little. Because he doesn't know there's a word for how deeply scarring the war was on all of them on levels far more vast than the scars on their skin.

"Guess that means I don't get my answer then, huh? Or did you give it some thought before Enbarr too?"