"Magnus."
Cowering, stripped of courage, trembling, Magnus raised his head and carefully glanced at the person who had called his name. He still could not understand what the other was. He could still remember some of his learning, but none of that knowledge could be used to explain this person's form of existence.
Impossible to understand, even impossible to look at directly.
"Yes," he answered, almost reverently.
The man seemed to sigh, and then again, perhaps he did not. In an instant, a golden mist suddenly appeared, then quickly dispersed. Magnus heard his calm voice. "You said you did something foolish, and disappointed him?"
Hearing that there did not seem to be much blame in his tone, Magnus was almost grateful enough to burst into tears—few of his brothers had been willing to speak with him these days, and Jaghatai, who had once been close to him, had hesitated several times as if wanting to say something.
He knew he had done wrong. Guilt had tortured him for ten thousand years, and he accepted their coldness, but.
But, if there were an if—
"Y-yes." Magnus raised his head and glanced at the speaker, then immediately withdrew his gaze. "I know. I disappointed him terribly."
"Do you know him very well?"
If it had been ten thousand years ago, Magnus would have proudly puffed out his chest and given an affirmative answer in a ringing voice. But now, he only answered with silence.
"So, you don't know him." There seemed to be a hint of amusement in the speaker's voice. "You think he would blame you—is that right? Very well, then let us continue along with your meaning. You think he would blame you, so what do you think he would blame you for?"
"The Webway."
Magnus carefully uttered those two