[Suzerain of Sheol]

"Nigh on ten years," Ulysses tells the man. Up close, there is something off about him, not easy to define, a vacuous cast to his gaze, as though he were actually looking through Ulysses, rather than at him. But the soldier has met strange men before, and he seems peaceable enough.

He extends his hand out in salutation. "Ulysses," he introduces himself gruffly. "Perhaps you know my mother, Marl, the alchemist."