After doing a little bit of stumbling around in darkness himself, Malachi thought the world of the automaton's suggestion, but it was Byron who made their wish a reality. For a moment the brawler almost wondered aloud why the catman didn't do that sooner, but it occurred to him just before he started talking that Byron could probably seen in the dark a whole lot better than he. With that settled, he put aside the distraction and, walking close behind, absorbed what Byron had to say. 

Unfortunately his words provided little in the way of comfort. Malachi frowned deeply, thinking about just what it would mean if the sealing procedure went as planned. Thirty...years? The thought made his head swim. If his family was still alive, his beloved daughter wouldn't be much younger than himself, and his wife would be twice her age easily. That by itself didn't matter too much, but a few problems existed that filled him with guilt and needled him with sorrow.

Neither of them knew what happened to him...no, what he'd done. They would have waited for him for weeks, then months, then years, until they had no choice but to conclude he'd either died or abandoned him. What could have happened in those thirty years...? Malachi's mind raced. His wife might have remarried. He would have missed his daughter growing up. Hell, he could unwittingly have grandchildren by now.

He couldn't deny the dire possibility, however, that his family had died in the Empire's vicious war. They might have perished as merciless soldiers set their home ablaze, or ran them down from horseback as they fled. Even if the Volstiniens let them live, this could be a cruel world. Famine, disease, bandits...any number of tragedy could have befallen them, alone and unprotected, abandoned by the man who loved them most. As the light at the tunnel's exit drew near, Malachi buried his face in his hands. What had he done?

Emerging into the sunlight made him feel a little better, compared to the claustrophobic mountain corridors, but it did little to settle the turmoil within him. Malachi wore an utterly distraught look as he swept his gaze over the horizon, beholding a changed world. Granted, when he came here, he hadn't exactly been committing the environs to memory, but nothing about this view struck him as familiar. When Byron spoke, Malachi glanced his way, aghast. “What's this about a forest? 'Worst case scenario'? What the hell are you talking about?” He zeroed in on the village relatively nearby, not recognizing the implications of the new forest, and without waiting for an answer began to hustle in its direction. “C'mon, let's find someone to talk to.”