Die. Respawn. Repeat.

Gheraa wasn't used to this.

Not the act of existing in realspace, though that was certainly strange in and of itself; the straight lines and square rooms of his home were nonexistent here, and the purity of Firmament he was used to was nowhere to be found. A part of him rebelled against it—yearned to apologize to Lhore and to be accepted back amongst the Integrators—but a much greater part of him reveled in it. Delighted in the thought of what they would think of him if they saw him now, cavorting and befriending the so-called lower lifeforms of the galaxy.

He was even getting used to the dirt. He didn't like it, exactly, but he was getting used to it. That was something, right? He could hold it in his hand without shuddering now.

All that was... different. But it wasn't what took the most getting used to. That honor was taken by Ethan and his friends.

Gheraa had never been able to let his guard down before, at least not to this extent. Integrator culture was competitive. Any interaction was a display of social dominance, every fight a battle for the right to exist. It was a necessity for their growth and evolution, or so the upper echelons claimed, and yet he'd never felt like he belonged.

In fairness, he wasn't sure he belonged here, either. Ahkelios and Guard treated him with respect, but he could tell they didn't entirely trust him, and he couldn't blame them. Ethan was the only one that seemed to look at him without judgement.

Sometimes, he was afraid that would change. He tried not to think about that too much.

"Hey, Gheraa?" Ethan called, knocking on his door. Gheraa flinched for a moment before he remembered himself and coughed, opening the door and putting on a beaming smile. At least, he assumed it was a beaming smile? Ethan seemed to interpret it just fine, but Ahkelios seemed a little creeped out by it.

"What is it?" Gheraa asked.