Magnus sighs. "What I don't get," he says, kneeling down so he can urge Drosera off his shoulders -- she immediately prances off to play with her pot again, this time dragging it out from beneath her little plant-cave and batting it around the greenhouse floor -- and taking a few steps closer to Sagramore, so he can stand right next to him, just in case Sagramore decides he wants a hug, or whatever (but Magnus is fine, so he won't ask for one). "Is I've already been dead for, like, nine years or something like that, most of which involved dying in Battle Practice nearly every day in pretty much every way you can think of. So it's not like this is a new experience or anything. And, like, I can heal." Never mind that he's always slower with himself than others, and that he was worried he'd bleed out before he could heal himself enough to stop the bleeding. "But everyone keeps freaking out about it."

Like Hanguang-jun and Galahad, but even Alex, who knows better. Even people he barely talks to, like Lancelot and Susan. It doesn't make sense that he would struggle. This is nothing new. He's been killed by tons of swords. He's never avoided the courtyard of Valhalla like the plague. He's never even avoided the bridge where he died the first time. So why does he skirt around the hallway where it happened every time he goes inside?

"Which, like, I guess my reflexes should be better and I can work on that, but..."