Chiro kept blinking hard as he worked, steeping tea leaves over the small fire on his station and mixing them with a somewhat thick mixture. The heated liquid broke the thickness up, turning it toward a watery consistency. "I can't help but fear the worst." He said, measuring a small amount of a rose bulb extract into the mixture and plugging it before shaking the bottle vigorously. "That I brought you into that crypt and let you breathe in that... foul air. I should have known. I gave it life again. And I hurt you. The past should have stayed buried. I shouldn't have let you go into those depths... I... I did... so bad. I did wrong. The dead should stay... dead."

In a moment, a flash of memory returned to him. His companion. Pale. Sick. In a moment his eyes closed and he died in Chiro's arms. Another flash, many years later. Why did he go back to that place? Cold and dead, the snow freezing the ground, the plants, killing even the strongest of life. What could survive up there? Nothing. And at the same time, the cold so well preserved that which was already dead.