The cheap smoke, and shimmering soft glow of a city may be entrancing to others, but Achilles saw nothing in it. He stared higher up, at the endless void of space, ever beckoning him to fade away. Though monks were the ones who meditated most often, Achilles found that the practice helped him stay focused in his goals, and not be distracted by those lesser than him- the peasants who thought that true power was in their dirt and breeze. Achilles knew the only way to surpass the mortals bond to the world was through the void, no matter how difficult the path was. It was for this reason that Achilles held a deep respect for the Orsim. Though tales said they were of origin unnatural, he believed them to be mortals who followed the calling of the Void, only to be driven off the path by terrible luck, or a deck stacked against them.

This was why he never actively hunted the Orsim, or fought against them. In a fight, he would be glad to end the miserable life of one, but not without reason. They had done plenty to wrong his people, the Ascendants in particular, but still, Achilles could not bring himself to hate them any more than anyone else could bring themselves to hate an innocent rabbit. Any crimes they preform, surely it could not be their fault. 

These thoughts rushed through his mind in moments, driving him to begin thinking of the 'war' on the Orsim, so to speak. Could it go further? Would he soon be faced with an all out slaughter of the 'Misguided', as he liked to call them. A stinging pain in the back of his head brought Achilles back to reality. He turned, his head lowered as he remembered what he had been doing. A man stood before him, a small rifle in his hands. He looked at Achilles for a moment, obviously disappointed, before he began to speak.

"Achilles, you cannot let yourself get distracted like this. What if this was a real gun?" The man asked, violently shaking the cheap plastic rifle. "You should've listened to us, woven more Sun into your raiments. The Void will consume you, if you don't focus." He said, his voice light, yet still maintaining that stern undertone, of a teacher scolding a disobedient student, a mother disciplining a child. Surely not the tone to use addressing a hero, one who protects the well being of those around. But Achilles silenced that voice quickly. [i]'No. I am still but a student. Nothing more.'[/i] He thought, hating himself for such a weak, childish thought.

"Yes, sir. The advice is much appreciated." He said, bowing slightly." Though the ranks of Ascendants were difficult to properly label, Achilles always paid utmost respect to his elders, especially those with combat experience and expertise. The man before him, by the name of Arius, certainly fit such a bill in Achilles' eyes.

Arius nodded, stepping closer to Achilles. Though Arius had about a dozen years on Achilles, their eyes were almost level. "Now, we will try again. I want you to master Fading by the time-" He spoke gently, before being interrupted by a private communication to him. He listened intently to the device in his ear, before giving a grunt of conformation, and clicking the earpiece off. "Change of plans. Sky Spire Launching Bay." Arius said strictly, folding his arms behind his back. When Achilles didn't immediately go, Arius shouted. "I meant now."

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After quickly suiting up in his black metal armor, Achilles did not hesitate in his travel, going by the quickest route he knew. When not drifting off, Achilles always did his best to perform tasks with precision. No jokes, no hesitation. Get orders. Execute orders. Get more orders. He had been taught that way, and could think of nothing else but conforming to these rules.

Achilles took swift steps as he entered the area, pausing for a moment in the door. His head did not move, but his eyes shifted around, identifying those in the room. He couldn't say that he recognized any of these people. But then, he didn't get out much. Surveying the room quickly, now ignoring the others, he leaned against the wall, just next to the door. He pulled out his pistol, quickly surveying it, checking the functions, before quickly moving onto his SMG, his hands flying quickly over the machine, moving more by muscle memory than by eyesight.