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"I am Sarossa, daughter <strong>of</strong> San<strong>do</strong>z, one <strong>of</strong> the fac<strong>to</strong>rs <strong>of</strong> the Godsmen."<br />

"Tell me <strong>of</strong> your family."<br />

"My brother Saros is a child <strong>of</strong> the Foundry, yet I fear he has never<br />

embraced the philosophy <strong>of</strong> the Believers <strong>of</strong> the Source," there was nary a<br />

twitch <strong>of</strong> her lip, but I could barely detect the disappointment in her voice,<br />

"My father is a fac<strong>to</strong>r here - and his travels have led him far from the<br />

Foundry and in<strong>to</strong> realms most mortals never even dream <strong>of</strong> achieving."<br />

"Tell me more <strong>of</strong> your brother."<br />

"Saros is a brash, impulsive lad, easily given over <strong>to</strong> his manhood. He is<br />

eager <strong>to</strong> prove himself equal <strong>of</strong> anything on the planes, full <strong>of</strong> the aggression<br />

<strong>of</strong> youth. I <strong>be</strong>lieve he feels himself more Sensate than Godsmen, further<br />

vindicating my <strong>be</strong>lief that the Sensates are the most immature <strong>of</strong> all the<br />

factions <strong>of</strong> Sigil." Fall-From-Grace's demeanor never wavered, and Sarossa<br />

didn't even acknowledge her presence, but I could feel Grace's<br />

contemplative amusement.<br />

"Why are they the most immature?"<br />

"Why are they the most immature? Be<strong>cause</strong>, like children, they <strong>do</strong> <strong>not</strong><br />

understand that there is more <strong>be</strong>yond the world <strong>of</strong> the senses, <strong>be</strong>yond what<br />

one can see, hear, taste, <strong>to</strong>uch, smell. Look around you. You are in the Outer<br />

Planes. This is <strong>be</strong>lief made solid - but that <strong>do</strong>es <strong>not</strong> mean this seemingly<br />

rough matter can <strong>be</strong> comprehended by the senses. This is <strong>be</strong>lief - no mere<br />

physicality can match it."<br />

I chose <strong>not</strong> <strong>to</strong> debate the point.<br />

In the lecture hall past the entrance I bumped in<strong>to</strong> a sandy-haired youth. He<br />

was on the cusp <strong>be</strong>tween a<strong>do</strong>lescence and adulthood, and from his eyes, it<br />

looked like he was trying <strong>to</strong> <strong>be</strong> as adult as possible without having the<br />

slightest idea how - in other words, he seemed innocent. "Hey, stranger.<br />

What can I <strong>do</strong> for you?"<br />

The young man held a clear resemblance <strong>to</strong> Sarossa: the same sharp nose,<br />

the same curve <strong>of</strong> the chin, but the likeness ended there. His eyes were<br />

boyish, and his lips playful. His skin was a slightly coppery hue, and his<br />

demeanor so far removed from his sister's pearly calm. "You're Saros, aren't<br />

568

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