For some while now you have been in the care of the Independent; kept safe and secret. And whatever blessings, whatever faith there is between you both, only continues to grow stronger with each passing day.

Here you both stand, amid the ruins of his most recent scourge. Smoke gathers in the air, and long-silent has gone the screams, the sand painted in blood. At length, Knives takes a breath, his hooded face turning minutely towards you. "Speak," He senses there is something you seek to say.