[ He looks down at the water, his bones and muscles loud with pain, exacerbated by the sharp shot of misery that strikes him as he listens to Gilgamesh speak. At first, he'd been unsure of what precisely Gil wanted of him, but the past few weeks have brought the truth into stark, undeniable relief. Though he isn't relieved by it at all. ]

I know you do, Gil.

[ Adra's people are not the stuffy, slow moving elves of other legends. They're hotblooded, quick thinking, always adapting and changing. Adra is no different. This world is shaping him, and Gil has a hand in that. But the core of him, the things that make him who he truly is--those things are unshakable.

He lifts his damp hands, lets the water drip from his fingers. Lets fire come to his palms, to burn and dry away the rest. He places a warm palm against Gil's cheek, but he doesn't look up. ]

Is that all you want of me? My body? Is that the sole object of the game you've been playing? What will you do if I let you win?

[ What do I even mean to you? ]