[ So Elysium says, but he doesn't expect anything to change if at all. Everything he's called to attention—their game, their stakes, and Sampo's supposed "truths"—have all been ways to better bury them beneath the ground.

Certain things were easier to ignore when they weren't drawn to attention to your attention, is all. There's the ceiling, and then there's the ground. To be crushed, or to be swallowed whole by something unseen? Elysium's own eyes shine. ]

An old-timer's responsibility is to nurture the talents of a fledgling like me, isn't it? [ Sampo's hand is on his arm, and yet, he keeps them crossed. Nor does his gaze stray, like a bird of prey trained on its mark. ] Is it wrong to feel this way for the person who's introduced me to this world?