[A chuckle, tired but humored. Ah, Bruno, never change. He leans his weight off the tree he's been resting at, plucking up another stone from the ground.

His face looks slightly more battered than the last time they spoke, face kissed red with exposure to the cold.]

Relax. There's nothing but us in here for a reason right now.

[Faintly, distantly, there's the flickering smell of smoke. Of dust and debris. Of blood. Of distant, mourning screams. Bruno's body will feel like a phantom of itself for a brief moment. Pained. Exhausted. Powerful. Powerful. It radiates like the heat of the sun in waves off his body. But he feels distress, not his own, but of a phantom, stumbling and bleeding and desperately trying to will something, something in him, something innate, to stop.

The real Solomon flinches with a deep exhale, as though this is not the first time this hallucination has rolled into his view. His hand runs, reflexively, at the ring against his middle finger, unaware that the vision is being shared.]

... Be cautious of what you see. This place is... exhausting.