So there it was, the distinction that Derek had alluded to when we had gathered here before—the obvious question perhaps as to whether a thing developed and bred on Bravenna could have an “I” to it, a “me” to it that was as authentic as the “I” or “me” of human beings.

Suddenly Amel stood and faced Maxym. “I was born on this planet,” he said. “I was born on this planet!” he repeated, slightly raising his voice. The red flared in his cheeks. “I am of this planet, and you forget that, and I tell you anything that is sentient, self-conscious, possessing a sense of fairness, a sense of right and wrong, has a soul. You have a soul! These beings here, Kapetria and Welf and Garekyn, and Derek—they have souls.”

Maxym shook his head as if he were genuinely disappointed. He turned his attention to me. “Follow him, will you? Work for him, will you? I tell you, someday the Maker will bring him and the offspring of his pride and greed to ruin!”

And then off he went out the double doors without closing them and down the golden corridor, his heavy steps echoing off the walls.

With a wave of his hand, Amel made the doors close.

“Well, you see for yourself why there are likely not many other converted Replimoids amongst us,” he said, “especially not of the complex kind. Bravenna poisons what it creates. Maxym is poisoned. He lives as one who is poisoned, unable to taste, to feel, to see, dying every day that he lives because he insists upon dying.”

“Why do you keep him as part of your family?” asked Derek. He was genuinely puzzled. I wanted to know this as well.

“Because I love him,” said Amel with a sad smile. “And he is immortal as I am immortal. I love you for the same reason. I have had lovers. I have had wives. I have lost them all. I can’t share this immortality of mine with anyone.” He sighed. “But there’s more to it,” he said. “I would rather have him here in Atalantaya shaking his fist at me, than out in the Wilderness lands fomenting his worship of the Maker among the tribes.” He shrugged. “But someday, he will no doubt wander out into the Wilderness—and he will find infinitely more appreciation for his fear-inspiring ideas than he ever finds among us.”

I want to pause here. I want to ask you all—Lestat, David, Marius, all of you: do you have any idea why I have given time and space here to this Maxym? You know what is about to happen to Atalantaya, and you know what happened to us. All of us. You likely can easily surmise what happened to Amel. Well, I’ll tell you why I have told you this story. Because I suspect this Replimoid, Maxym, too survived the destruction that was soon visited on all of us. But not bodily as we did. I suspect that he exists as surely as Amel exists, and that his name is now Memnoch, who creates astral traps for unwary souls.