'So that's the question.'
He chuckled, having expected it. He was somehow certain that would be the question, but just because he knew that would be the question didn't mean he had an answer.
After all, who truly knew death? Alan certainly didn't.
Was he a great scientist, one of the smartest beings on his planet? Was he a great philosopher? Was he even qualified to be near those guys?
Was he an empath? Or a ruthless warlord? Or something else entirely? Was he divine, to fear death, for he had witnessed its creation, its use? Or was he a new Mythic, relieved that Death would not necessarily be his end?
What was he? Who was he, to understand the various forms of death and accurately give an answer, one that would satisfy his creator? Who was he?
Her heir? Maybe, but was it really guaranteed? Or something else? Alan didn't know, even when he combed through all his memories, the memories of Aranus, James, and his own... he couldn't give a concrete answer.
