Reinhard looked down at his right hand, at the symbol of Angra Mainyu clearly visible now that his glove was removed. The crown, the split sun, the mask, the serpent, the chains, the wings, all of it seemed to stare back at him silently.
He'd made a choice in that crimson-black tide. He'd offered his hand to something that had been nothing but hatred and suffering for countless ages.
And now he would dream its dreams.
He would experience its memories, feel its emotions, live through whatever horrors had shaped the Source of All Evil into what it was. His fingers curled slowly into a fist, but he could still feel it there, pulsing faintly against his skin.
"When do I get the gloves?" Reinhard asked quietly, his voice steady despite everything he'd just learned.
Celestia straightened. "Normally it would take a while, but I can say it's a medical need and have it by the end of the week."
