At the price of his people, Reala had been allowed to return to his home. Not a day went by when he didn't leave and wonder: Would today be the day his Master returned? Would he be allowed to stay?
But today was the anniversary. NiGHTS knew better by now than to come disturb him on this day. Alone, he floated out into the Dark Ocean's void, far from his own domain. Without Nightmare to define its boundaries, he had no idea where his Master's chambers once stood and no way to guess. Merely, when it felt right, he stopped. He knelt.
The ache of his lost home, of his lost god, struck him as his knee locked into place, causing him to tremble ever so slightly as he knelt. With a breath, he reigned the emotions back in. His grief had no place here, he reminded himself. He tried to recall the chambers in the space around him, the god before him. With a breath, he began. He whispered. He told of everything he had done to make his god proud, the temptations he had resisted and the opinions he had kept, the choices that he made and the actions that he took. Each sentence was a penny, tossed like a wish into a well with a prayer that it would come true.
He was loyal.
Loyal.
Upon return, he could only hope Wizeman would see that.
It was never a question that he might not.