[As they travelled through the repurposed warehouse, Byleth's gaze swept over every inch of it, his expression not shifting from its blank passiveness. It was clear to him that it was incomplete, but what its final shape was to take, he wasn't quite sure. Considering the language Bondrewd used, as well as his proficiency in biological matters, then it may resemble what Aetós's workshop had appeared as... something alien and too advanced for him to really understand what he was looking at.
So, he put it out of mind, and took the seat and glass of water that was offered to him. If Byleth had felt any unease or uncertainty about his current situation, it was swiftly forgotten in the face of Bondrewd's offer, visibly perking up in open interest. A free meal and drink? Count him a very happy and willing guinea pig!
(He completely glazed over the ominous phrases like "if you are not feeling lightheaded" or "if you have an appetite then", because in his mind, he's just giving some blood and minor soft tissue, right? Byleth had lost more in every day combat. He wasn't concerned in the slightest (oh, Byleth).)]
The question I'd like answered is what... am I, exactly.
[He paused, realising that this question was both perhaps too vague and too philosophical.]
Let me amend that: biologically speaking, I'm aware that I'm a half-human, half-Nabatean hybrid. As far as I'm aware, I'm the only successful one that didn't suffer from... debilitating defects. For example, my mother, who was an artificial hybrid - that being, she wasn't born but created - suffered from weak vitality and a myriad of other health problems.
[According to Jeralt, it was considered an absolute miracle that Sitri managed to carry Byleth to term, her health had been so precarious. But despite being so sickly, she was also considered one of the more stable vessels that Rhea had crafted. In the three hundred years Jeralt had served Rhea, he had seen a few... terrible failures. What shape those failures took, he never said, only sporting a very grim expression about the matter.]
The only defect I had was one that was somehow resolved by my mother's creator. I was... stillborn, but my life was restored by transferring my mother's Crest Stone - a Nabatean's version of a heart - into me, as I lacked my own. This has made me wonder... what is my existence? Am I actually alive, or merely reanimated? I wasn't born with a Crest Stone of my own, but I still have a human heart, even though it doesn't function. Was I stillborn because I wasn't meant to live, being an unnatural hybrid?
[Byleth trailed off slightly, realising that he was veering back into the philosophical side of things, but finding that there was a measure of relief in giving voice to these heavy questions. He could never ask them to the others, because they would give him platitudes of 'you're alive' or 'it doesn't matter' and tell him to focus on the future, but he just... he wanted to know...
And Bondrewd could offer him those answers. He wouldn't give him platitudes. He was, despite being outwardly friendly, a cold man of science and logic. There was no pity within him. Bondrewd wanted to know, to satisfy his curiosity, and in this Byleth was the same. If this arrangement would grant him what he had thought unobtainable, all for the cheap cost of sacrificing a litre or two (or three, or four...) of blood and a pound of flesh, then he'd pay the price without hesitation.]
no subject
So, he put it out of mind, and took the seat and glass of water that was offered to him. If Byleth had felt any unease or uncertainty about his current situation, it was swiftly forgotten in the face of Bondrewd's offer, visibly perking up in open interest. A free meal and drink? Count him a very happy and willing guinea pig!
(He completely glazed over the ominous phrases like "if you are not feeling lightheaded" or "if you have an appetite then", because in his mind, he's just giving some blood and minor soft tissue, right? Byleth had lost more in every day combat. He wasn't concerned in the slightest (oh, Byleth).)]
The question I'd like answered is what... am I, exactly.
[He paused, realising that this question was both perhaps too vague and too philosophical.]
Let me amend that: biologically speaking, I'm aware that I'm a half-human, half-Nabatean hybrid. As far as I'm aware, I'm the only successful one that didn't suffer from... debilitating defects. For example, my mother, who was an artificial hybrid - that being, she wasn't born but created - suffered from weak vitality and a myriad of other health problems.
[According to Jeralt, it was considered an absolute miracle that Sitri managed to carry Byleth to term, her health had been so precarious. But despite being so sickly, she was also considered one of the more stable vessels that Rhea had crafted. In the three hundred years Jeralt had served Rhea, he had seen a few... terrible failures. What shape those failures took, he never said, only sporting a very grim expression about the matter.]
The only defect I had was one that was somehow resolved by my mother's creator. I was... stillborn, but my life was restored by transferring my mother's Crest Stone - a Nabatean's version of a heart - into me, as I lacked my own. This has made me wonder... what is my existence? Am I actually alive, or merely reanimated? I wasn't born with a Crest Stone of my own, but I still have a human heart, even though it doesn't function. Was I stillborn because I wasn't meant to live, being an unnatural hybrid?
[Byleth trailed off slightly, realising that he was veering back into the philosophical side of things, but finding that there was a measure of relief in giving voice to these heavy questions. He could never ask them to the others, because they would give him platitudes of 'you're alive' or 'it doesn't matter' and tell him to focus on the future, but he just... he wanted to know...
And Bondrewd could offer him those answers. He wouldn't give him platitudes. He was, despite being outwardly friendly, a cold man of science and logic. There was no pity within him. Bondrewd wanted to know, to satisfy his curiosity, and in this Byleth was the same. If this arrangement would grant him what he had thought unobtainable, all for the cheap cost of sacrificing a litre or two (or three, or four...) of blood and a pound of flesh, then he'd pay the price without hesitation.]