It had pained him to see Sinclair and Cersei off at the borders of Glorall and yet, it had to be done. Had they followed after him too far or for too long, they might not have been allowed to return to Glorall - at least, not without some heinous consequence. Praetor had given her all the advice she had needed, and truly Tesseract could not have said it better. He had let his own love of Caligula get in the way of things all too often; in fact, it had been his adoration of family that had been his weakness at times. If she were as intelligent as he knew she could be, she would not allow her concern to cloud her judgement. He supposed, in the end, at least she had Sinclair. For what it was worth, the boy had always had a level head. They would do well, or at least he had to make himself believe that as they hobbled out of Glorall and west towards the marshes.

He had never expected to return there, not in this condition at least. He understood things had changed and yet, he still felt a starved king of anger at the prospect of his mother's ghost lingering somewhere in the mists. Was he truly any better than her now, anyway? He had done just what she had done. Perhaps it was genetic in the end. He sighed quietly to himself at such a thought, trying to clear his mind though each time he thought he had succeeded, a lightning strike of pain ran the length of his body once again. Each step felt like eternity, his gait an awkward shuffle compared to its usual fluid grace. Whatever had been done to him, he did not expect to recover from for some time. This felt different to the pain he had felt in the past.

For the most part, he remained in stoic silence as they moved across the terrain. He did not wish to draw attention to them, or to himself. Throughout it all, he still stubbornly held onto whatever pride he might have left, until they reached the far borders of Iromar. With less risk of being humiliated, he allowed himself to resign to a more natural state, his face one of tiredness. At least, he supposed, there was no trace of Ruvindra in the white fog.

Finally, they came to a stop. Tesseract merely nodded in acknowledgment of Praetor as he stepped away, calling out into the marshes, surely to summon the queen of damned to them. Tesseract grinned sheepishly to himself - he'd have to not call her that, or this place the damned. It would be for Praetor's sake at least, who seemed rather pleased with their arrival if not entirely satisfied. Had he been hiding some kind of attachment to the swamps? Perhaps, once healed, Tesseract would get the information out of him one way or another. After all, he had shared rather... intimate details about himself. It only seemed fair. But why was he thinking about that now? He knew he ought to simply think about resting, and yet he could seldom keep his mind busy enough not to stray.

With a relieved sigh, he gave Vesper a grin of sorts, a silent thanks for her efforts before he placed his weight across his three good legs, tucking his maimed one close to his body. It felt better there, less strained but also warm, comfortable almost. He felt like a mess but he wanted to at least look a little more composed for the arrival of Aithne.