[Zag. That simple word releases a tension in him that he'd unknowingly held onto. It was the first time since he'd arrived that Thanatos had called him by his familiar nickname. A relieved sigh escapes his lips as he feels the familiar sensation of being teleported away, his hand still firmly grasping Thanatos', things being as they should between them.

He takes his bag, struggling one-handed to pull off the remains of his polo shirt while Thanatos sets up the quiet room. Upon entering, the serene darkness gets vaguely lit up by the glow coming from Zagreus' feet and laurels. The purple blooms in the firelight cause Zagreus to gaze upon them, still unused to seeing anything growing in the eternal winter of the surface world.]

Than, these are beautiful. What are they?

[He sets his burnt polo shirt and bag on the opposite bench seat, his fingers brushing over green leaves with fascination. Of course, when Thanatos begins speaking, his attention is drawn away, to the conversation they were meant to be having.]

And I believe you. But this talk of another Zagreus, it's... clearly we recognize each other, right? So you've got to be the Than I know, and I've got to be the Zagreus you know and bail out of death every so often.

[Okay, a lot more often lately. But that's for another time.]

Why did we get brought here? More importantly, why did we not get brought at the same time?