Death—the most final of endings, and one likely everyone in this chamber agreed upon subjecting Nemean to. Imp had desired it for what seemed forever, whether in mutters or shouts of hurt and outrage. With that exact word, Farina sentenced the Betrayer to it when Fahl had been here before. And Fahl himself—out of necessity, loyalty, a smidgen of shared agony—was just as keen to put a stop to the long series of torments perpetrated by such a vile being. Only from Dragon had he never heard the sentiment expressed during their short acquaintance. As father to his teacher, however, the fires of revenge might still burn deep inside.

A common goal for all. Yet, even so, his slack-jawed grin faded as he listened to Imp's cheerful promise of a well-deserved execution, worry arisen as to how much satisfaction this combined effort might yield. Unless proven otherwise, a killing could be done but once; who was to say that the contributions to it would be equal, or that any of them would want their roles in the deed to be either?

He watched as Farina settled back in her throne, his shoulders braced against the compulsion to flinch as sharp clicks rang throughout the room, knowing that she'd made no indication that they would each have a chance to draw blood from Nemean. Vengeance for them might be obtaining the tool for the job and nothing else so that she alone could strike the finishing blow. For a Master, the possibility didn't seem unheard of. The disappointment could be real.

But for an angry soul, the crab had a way with words: elegant, doting, flattering for her subject of choice. Care resonated in every syllable and plucked a sympathetic cord, even as envy at her skilled description weighed upon his tongue. Palpable danger clung to her ending threat. Combined with what came previous, the emotion presented reached depths that could barely be fathomed. The surface was relatable, though, and it made Fahl stay the course despite misgivings.

"We'll be sure Nemean takes all the harm instead," he said, dipping his head in a last show of respect. Then, turning with awkward plodding steps, the iguana sauntered over to Imp. He leaned in to lightly butt against the other's feathered side. "The better to see with new eyes, right?"

"Whoa!"

Fahl lurched sideways, nervous laughter bubbling up from his throat, to avoid the wide arc of Imp's tail. Although built far lower to the ground than the batgator, the nonzero possibility of being nicked by its tip was not one he desired to court. It'd likely dull the atmosphere of the room, just as the joy that might cause this unintentional harm had brightened the place up.

In such a hurry to get out of the way and lacking the grace to dodge well, the throw to safety became a fall, and his shoulder slid over the coral platform. If not for the texture of his scales, rough despite the damp clinging to them, he might have skidded along for a fair distance. Friction warmed his flank as he slowed to a halt. Then, with a grunt of effort, he heaved himself upright. Legs not at their strongest, this was not the insignificant moment it'd usually be. Instead it could be considered a feat, accomplished in such a short span of time.

A feat that was short-lived—his back legs collapsed. Silver, white, red flashed over him as stability vanished. He landed flat on his ass. It was in this position, head swiveled to watch Imp splashing at the water's edge, that Dragon's quiet remarks were heard. He glanced over to him at the beginning thanks.

Grasping for a response, sucking upon the gemstone embedded in his tongue, Fahl lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. His body spoke more than him: base color deepened to dark brown while gold flushed his throat and chest. But next came a swallow, followed by a self-conscious grimace. "Oh, yeah. Challenging. Very tricky. Like there was this spar..."

Regret caused his voice to fade away momentarily. Somehow he had an inkling of an idea that this wasn't what Dragon meant. But what did he mean then? The question was not pursued in favor of plowing onward to more certain territory.

"I... With the Children..." Where his heart had withered from discomfort, now it swelled to a point verging on painful. "Well, uh, sir. Pisces is my home. But I'd gladly be a distant Child if ever there were a need... or rather"—not accustomed to familial terms, alternatives were not the most forthcoming—"Cousin?"

"Only when your son gets his eyes," he at last declared. "Then I'll have done much."

Imp had always done far more for him than he had ever returned: taught him, befriended him, helped him when he needn't have bothered. This act alone would amount to a fraction of what he owed. Who knew how long it'd take to repay the rest, however more additional tasks he might pursue in service to his teacher.

"I can manage the way back." A half-truth. The promise of Imp's sight would surely spur him on past his limits, but he could not guarantee his endurance would hold. However lingering here with Farina's eyes boring into his back seemed the worse option. Trying a Master's patience lacked sense.