The Merchant. There's that surge of tight displeasure again. To think there's someone he's come to dislike so much that just the name of him can threaten his mood. But that's not what's important in the moment.

An accelerated life cycle, life and death in visible turns- yes, he can remember something to that effect, now.

Eleven tips his head back, eyes on the rafters overhead, then slowly closes them. He lets himself drift in the humid heat of the room and the water that's grown comfortable against his skin. A long, pleasant silence, calling up echoes of lost memories and piecing together undercurrents of feeling.

He returns to the present with a thoughtful hum. "..I was worried this world didn't have a cycle- that it was interrupted by undeath. It could be that it holds true, though perhaps not on a cosmic scale.."

Eleven lifts his head and straightens up to peer at his companion again. "There are undead warlords still?"