"You know what, you're not as heartless as you like to sound!" Yunlan parked the kettle, full of water, on the stove and hoisted himself up next to it, crossing his legs and tapping the heel of one against the cupboard front. "I'm an old man, Chocolat keeps telling me. Five to ten years, maybe I'll be in the ground."

He shouldn't be up and wandering around in any case. He'd given his life up to burn in the Lantern for an eternity already, if any of his memories were real at all. Absently, he bit down on the edge of his thumb, worrying at the dry skin there. The worst thought -- the more unbearable thought -- was going on, five, ten, fifty years alone.

"What kind of civilization would you build?" he asked, idly, while the kettle simmered away.