On his first night outside the Fade, he offered to keep watch. Kristoff's body did not need sleep. It needed nothing, in fact, except perhaps its final rest, but that could not come yet. He regretted that necessity, but it was a necessity.
He watched the others sleep and marveled at them. They were so unaware of what they were – they were creators that every spirit and demon in the Fade emulated, willingly or unwillingly. Even he had done so, with his armor and form that had been nothing more than spirit molded to what dreaming minds had told him they might see as a bringer of justice.
But here? He prodded Kristoff's arm curiously with a finger. It was solid, immutable.
What a strange, brave, terrifying new world this was, where the only things that changed at a whim were minds. He consoled himself that he was among these people, but not of them; even his mind would not change.
He would learn differently with time, but that first night he was lost in the wonder and illusion of permanence.