Eleven frowns at that, brows creasing. An undead child warlord? A shiver passes over his skin and he sinks a little further into the water's warmth.

"They were called brothers, I think." For some reason, that small detail comes to him, absent others. Again, he's struck by the knowledge that he knows more than he does in the moment- that there's some understanding locked behind a particular branch of memories, behind a name that sets his heart stuttering.

He breathes. "Five said.. that we're the one disrupting this world, because we aren't supposed to be here, but I can't imagine we're the ones behind the disrupted cycle. The warlords existed before we did.."

But neither does he look too certain of that suddenly, attention casting into hazy memories as far as he can throw it.