[ He wishes, sometimes, they could go back to the simplicity of arguing. He did not particularly relish or enjoy the moments where they butted heads aggressively, but they were easier. There were clear lines drawn in the sand. Where he had the security of being right because he did not think past his own certainty. There was significantly less guilt then.

But, he thinks, that doesn't mean he was right. Nor that he was happy. ]

We both know that those examples are not the same.

[ There's no heat to his words this time, though, just exhaustion. They might be tempered. It is very likely they are, but the time difference between the shards is chaotic enough there's a small chance they're not. He doesn't know if that would make this better, or worse.

Were they tempered, though, they could resolve it. Had they ever tried, when they understood what the primals they summoned had done? Emet-Selch finds he cannot recall. Surely he, or at the very least, Lahabrea, would have recognized the signs given the summoning they orchestrated after the fact. Had they forgotten? Had Zodiark, or Elidibus simply smoothed away the memory the way one smooths away wrinkles upon bedsheets? Thoughtless, effortless? Or has it simply been so many thousands of years, the memory was inconsequential when faced with his certainty of purpose? He's not sure which option is preferable. ]

I am no stranger to handling what must needs be done. [ But even as he says it, there's no righteous tone, nothing but resignation at the potential weight of duty. ] Nor do I doubt your capacity as shepherd.