The city slept above, blissfully unaware of the mind that drifted through its shadows. The Emperor preferred it that way. Baldur's Gate endured. The Netherbrain was gone. Freedom remained his own.

He lingered at the edge of a rooftop, psionic senses stretching across the night like invisible currents. Countless thoughts brushed against him—fear, love, hunger, ambition. He no longer reached for them as readily as once he might have.

Progress, perhaps.

At the familiar presence approaching behind him, his attention shifted. A faint ripple of amusement touched the bond.

"Curious," he observed. "I was just thinking of you."