Stein has come to realize that most people can't see the wavelengths of the souls around them. Sometimes he tries to imagine what it would be like to just see people's faces, to recognize another human based on the shape of their nose or the color of their hair or the sound of their voice. He has never succeeded. It is like trying to imagine what it would be like to be deaf or blind or dead; an interesting mental exercise but ultimately futile. He cannot fathom how he could possibly interact with other creatures without knowing their innermost selves as a reference point, cannot understand how those around him manage as well as they do, even with their bumbling and miscommunications and erroneous assumptions.

Spirit Albarn has a beautiful soul wavelength. The potential in the weapon stuns Stein for a moment. Spirit's wavelength is impressively steady, once Stein tips his head slightly to ignore the superficial doubt and nerves flickering across its surface. He has the potential to be the Death Weapon that Lord Death hopes of. Stein wonders if Spirit knows this, if he tastes the core of absolute sincerity beneath Lord Death's encouragement. Probably not. For all his strength, his wavelength lacks focus. It's like a sun, radiating and wasting power and energy without any concern for channeling either into something productive. Right now his panic is barely suppressed, flaring up every few seconds in spite of all Lord Death is saying.

Stein is impressed, as he rarely is by something outside the confines of his own head. It is easy to see the wavelength compatibility between this weapon and himself now, in a room together, when their pairing is all but completed. To notice the potential for such compatibility from a sea of possibility combinations is something else entirely. Stein has no interest or talent for this, but he recognizes the skill Lord Death has displayed.

He consciously unfocuses his sight from Spirit Albarn's soul wavelength and takes in his outward appearance. Shaggy red hair, with the look of a haircut delayed too long rather than deliberate styling. Bony wrists, ankles - he has the half-starved look of a certain age of boy, growing faster than his appetite can yet match. Very blue eyes, when his panic subsides slightly and he meets Stein's calculating gaze. Unusually well-made clothes, for all that he appears to have outgrown them in the last week or two. Panic is rising in his face again, sending his eyes wide and tightening the curve of his eyebrows. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Lord Death, I think there's been-"

Stein knows what he is going to say, knows it as thoroughly as if he was in control of the weapon's mouth and mind himself. The other boy is wrong, of course - there has been no mistake, he is as well-suited to Stein as anyone Stein has ever met - but there is no time to explain this and the other boy wouldn't believe him anyway. Explanations will have to come later.

"Spirit Albarn." The other boy's words shut off like a closed tap, although his mouth is still forming the next syllable of his abortive complaint. "It's good to meet you." He is entirely serious, the phrase catching on his tongue like new instead of sliding off with the lubrication of thousands of polite lies. "Let's go."

Spirit's face is confused, his expression tangling frustration and irritation and tongue-tied nervousness, but his wavelength flickers and steadies. Stein feels the desire to smile pull at the muscles of his mouth as he exits the Death Room. He knows the footsteps will follow well before his ear picks out the sound of expensive shoes on tile floor.