#drifter callan

The cephalon paused for a moment, his interest drawn by a set of statistics. With a mildly frustrated sigh, he hovered towards the exit of the non-functional liset.

"Op- Drifter, are you out here?"

A hunched figure sat by the cooking fire, still and silent. They didn't turn their head, even as Ordis approached.

"Drifter?" His voice took on a worried tone.

Callan stared deep into heart of the flames, not shifting his gaze or responding to the query. He looked sickly, with glassy eyes and an exhausted complexion. Red marks around his eyes, nose, and forehead told the story of the past few weeks.

"Your cortisol levels are hitting a new high. They should be coming down by now, not going up. Are you... feeling well?" Ordis made a vague gesture at the golden veil sitting on the stone ring that surrounded the fire, "It's been almost a week since you returned. Whatever effects the Veil inflicted on you should be wearing off- the Ostron you saved appears to be doing well."

"... I'm fine, Ordis." Callan's voice was barely more than a gravelly croak, "Just need to... keep going. You got any more leads on Narmer outposts? I can try to head out at dawn-"

"Operator!" The cephalon was clearly agitated, "Forget Narmer! When was the last time you had a good meal? Or tried to relax?! Or-"

Ordis paused. "... You haven't slept yet, have you?"

The silence was all the confirmation he needed.

"No wonder your cortisol levels are spiking! You know that will kill you, correct? Operator- you need rest!"

Callan exhaled, his gaze drifting to the veil, orange-yellow in the firelight.

"'s fine. I'm okay Ordis. I can keep going." His speech was sluggish and slurred, "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of myself."

"CLEARLY YOU-" the cephalon glitched, before lapsing into a brief moment of silence.