“Orb of Answering,” I said slowly, “here is my second question. The man who sired me... my birth father... is he still alive?” Again, the etchings set into motion, scribbling and scrawling all manner of ancient symbols. It seemed to take longer this time, the answer more buried in its infinite and impossible knowledge. And then, as before, a single word took shape. And my heart stopped in my chest. Yes.
