It takes a moment for Elidibus— No, Themis — to realize that he is the one being spoken to. It’s been, well. He genuinely does not remember the last time he was ever referred to by that name. Lahabrea no longer used it. Emet-Selch likely remembered it but deferred to his title out of respect for wasting memories. Not that Themis would have understood or appreciated at the time, but he does now.

Themis.

And that voice. He pauses where he’s standing, muscles twitching beneath his brows as his mind polishes recently mended pieces of his memory. He looks at the fiery haired youth approaching him and recognition crashes into him mercilessly. It is not Lahabrea, but his son … a long forgotten soul, a once beloved friend.

“It’s you…” Perhaps they’re in the Aetherial Sea still after all? But no, those who seemed “in charge” of it all, their strange requirements, it cannot be so. “Erichthonios?” And while he has no soul sight the way Emet-Selch and Hyhtlodaeus did, he can see that he is whole and bright and alive. He doesn’t run to meet the other in return, but when they do get close enough, he reaches out to clutch at Erichthonios’ hands and sleeves tightly like he’s certain he will otherwise lose him if he doesn’t hang on. “You…”