[In its own way, Set's lament is strangely comforting. Yes; the intangible promise of perfection was what bought Liem's loyalty to Abadar's church, just as it had for many others. An impossible goal for mortal men and women, but within the realm of Utopia, where reality spun like an immense and flawless clockwork, that wish could be granted. As painful as it has ever been for Liem to suffer the demands of his mortal body, there is still some measure of comfort in the knowledge that perfection is equally beyond the grasp of his human peers — and equally attainable for him as it is for any of Abadar's other mortal servants, once they are admitted to his realm.

After all, all mortals die eventually. He's just obliged to wait longer than others.

Slowly, deliberately, Liem sets down the porcelain in his hands, so he can brace his palm flat against the counter behind him. It is cool; solid. A necessary anchor against the incessant heat of Set's skin.]

What—

[Liem's eyes flick wide beneath frowning brows, fix hard on the god's face. His voice is soft with disbelief.]

Would you shoulder the burdens of every forsaken man and woman here? I have promised nothing to you, nor any of your family. You have no duty to me.

[When he had first encountered Set, naked and brazen in Highstorm's baths, he had thought he had no shame at all. To discover now how wrong he was brings Liem no joy at all.]

Ask of me what you will, and if it is mine to give, you will receive it.