[ Slowly, plants try to grow from his grave, dying and decomposing as soon as they begin to mature. It's erratic; it stops and starts until fingers break through, then hands, a body emerging part by part. The person that comes out doesn't gasp for air, doesn't choke on the pieces of dirt clinging to his lips or the inside of his throat. Zephir is pale, cheekbones protruding, a miserable version of his true self come back to life —
— but he isn't alive, not really. They've turned him into an undead creature, connected to Sullivan in entirely new ways now. Sullivan, who stood here and waited for him, searched for a sign of him, then called to him. Staring with troubling adoration, Zephir crawls until he can stand, rasping his first words in their language. His hand is over his own stomach, taking one unsteady step toward him. ]
Death… My Death. I felt you. I was with you. You feel it too, don't you?
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— but he isn't alive, not really. They've turned him into an undead creature, connected to Sullivan in entirely new ways now. Sullivan, who stood here and waited for him, searched for a sign of him, then called to him. Staring with troubling adoration, Zephir crawls until he can stand, rasping his first words in their language. His hand is over his own stomach, taking one unsteady step toward him. ]
Death… My Death. I felt you. I was with you. You feel it too, don't you?