The water threw Basch's images back at him, distorted by widening rings as the rain pierced its surface. He looked older, tired, as though the dungeon had leached all color from him, leaving a walking ghost. Disgusted, he kicked the water, leaving it behind him as he strode to join the princess.
Much later, when they had together beside a blaze within the Garif camp, he'd confessed his thoughts to Balthier - he knew not why. Balthier had touched his hand, fingers a healthy tan against the pale gold of Basch's skin, then his chin, tickling along the line of his beard. "You are no ghost," Balthier had said and, later, had touched him again, tracing another line of hair until Basch couldn't help but be aware of the blood pounding through his veins.