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As expected, Arden was tired. It was becoming far too easy to fall asleep these days, and far too difficult to wake up. His strong, angular face was becoming rough with stubble, and the dark shadows clumped underneath his eyes gave him a sickly hue. The soldier had taken to roaming mindlessly about the Pantheon, tuning out the sympathetic whispers and chuckles floating just behind his consciousness. He tried not to think about how this was likely all of Bazyli's doing, and how, inevitably, his strength was beginning to fail him.

The only reason he took any notice that he had wandered into a library of sorts was when he bumped into what appeared to be a small table of sorts, which rattled its dishes disapprovingly at his lack of sense. There was a sluggish sort of blink, and Arden took in the sight for a moment, slowly tracing it until, he realized with a faint ping of alarm, his eyes settled upon someone. Something.

"Sorry." He muttered, armored fingers pressing woozily at his forehead. He was unaware that his physical state might have been alarming to some--particularly with out of it he seemed to be.

Where Arden was oblivious to whom he had interrupted, however, Bazyli was not. The god gently encouraged his host to lift his head and take in the pale being a bit more closely, studying the telltale signs and feelings that this was one of his... kin. How delightful."Forgive him, brother, he was never one for manners..." It was a dry rasp of sound, like the wind rattling through dead leaves.

Arden mistook the voice for merely being inside his head again, and didn't bother to correct him. Even the buzz of speech against his lips was, mostly, ignored.

His weary limbs nearly folded in upon themselves as gentle hands eased him into a nearby chair, but he only stared dully at the food for a moment, taking a mild interest in the colors and nothing more. His very will to live was, currently, being suppressed. A useful trait, to be sure. I am Bazyli. Famine. It would not do for this body to perish before he had obtained it, and carefully, the god unwound his will from the more primal instincts of the mortal.

Arden suddenly was aware of how hungry he was, and he set upon the food ravenously, only able to comprehend the stabbing ache in his gut. How long have you walked in this realm again? Bazyli wanted to know, pleased he could still communicate while ignoring his host altogether. It was no different than a servant, though he'd have struck down any lesser being for such noise.

Of course, it wouldn't be much longer now. Of that, he had no doubt.

The soldier had seen better days, surely, and the kindness was an unexpected, but greatly appreciated sentiment. If he were in his right mind, he would have thanked the God of Silence profusely. As it was, he could only think to reach out, his armor-plated hand lightly touching the pale, seemingly delicate skin of Endiovar's. Emotions flickered over the man's face, conflicted, but he couldn't seem to sort out exactly what it was that he wanted to do, or say. After a moment, he removed his hand, and returned to the meal that had been generously provided for him.

I see. A pity, that, but we can only move forward now. Not quite a dismissal, but close. Silence was a neutral realm, one that Bazyli had no thoughts on one way or another. Still, information was incredibly useful, and he would not waste such an opportunity.

The Grigori. How soon until you think they strike again? Much as he would have craved the presence of Destruction once more, Balance was what was vital, here. They could not risk everything falling to pieces again quite so soon.

Surprise colored Arden's features for a moment, his mindless, hungry movements crawling to a halt. The words, in his head. Like Bazyli's, but different somehow. Gentler. It didn't set him on edge, though--not that he really would have been able to be intimidating in this sort of state. How can we speak like this? He ventured wearily, wetting his throat with a bit of drink. Famine saw no need to quash his host for now. The man was already beginning to rot away from the inside out. Soon, he would be little more than a husk, ripe for the taking.

Perhaps they grow stronger as well. They have already proven that they can overpower us--and with time, they will devise a new, clever plan. The god chuckled, but the sound held no mirth. Time will tell. The weak will be crushed, and the strong shall survive.