( Magic. As far as he's concerned, that's what's evidenced; as a creature made of overflowing, constantly generated magic himself on a level he doesn't understand and likewise doesn't wish to know more about, it's unnerving.

Magic is the source of so many problems in this Storm-struck world they've been caught in, more magic having sometimes better results leaves him feeling ill at ease. )

Oh, feel free, you've got your... magic. To help you. I'll just stand over here, by the lovely looking gold plates.

( Taking steps back, he does come to rest in line with at least one golden tablet, and a glance to it corrects his understanding of the object: )

More flat, gold-covered stones. What does this say... "With morning, my body is a weapon, sun-seeking, righteousness-bound."

( He pauses, shaking his head. )

Nonsense riddle.