Praetor. 

It's a word she's never heard in her entire life; she has no idea what it could mean. And yet the sound of it is a needle sliding slowly into her spine. Every syllable drags across her mind like the claws of some hideous beast, and the pain that follows fills her head until nothing else will fit. 

Mosaic's legs feel weakness that have nothing to do with fatigue. She squeezes her head, because the pressure feels like relief against the swells of the word inside her. Pain enough to make her stomach churn. She heaves dry air and burning spittle, but nothing more. She stumbles forward, but does not fall. Her eye pinches shut as if trying to shield itself from the orange glow and the motes of light filtering through the coral. 

But it clears. As suddenly as it clutched her, the word lets go and all at once Mosaic's world returns to normal. She watches the strange construct in wide eyed wonder and her mouth hanging slack. What kind of machine could this be? Was it even one? It wasn't like anything she'd ever seen come from the Skies. They would not have built something so... fragile. 

Or so beautiful. All at once she is seized with the desire to run over and brush her fingers against the rotating rings and feel the perfection of their construction for herself. At the same time she feels the equally potent desire flee the room entirely, lest she breathe wrong or provide some latent spark that would fry this intricate miracle and kill a hundred lifetime's worth of dedication, perseverance, divine blessing, or sheer stupid luck that had kept this bizarre and wondrous eye in working order at the bottom of the sea with no support long after whatever disaster put this decrepit vessel into the drink in the first place.

Well. Almost working order, anyway. Whatever it was, it was clearly broken: not a single thing it said made a shred of sense. Even the gods it invoked were strange and wrong. It had to be broken. Or maybe disoriented? No matter how much she sniffs the air, Mosaic can't find any signs that it's alive; the only fresh scents in the room are metals and a heat that reminds her of the fuels that are beginning to power this ship. But even still, when she looks at it the word that keeps jumping through her thoughts is 'person'. If it wasn't alive, then what was it?"

Her hand lifts up to hold her head again. The pressure is back, and it almost feels like her brain might burst out of her skull if she didn't hold it in herself.

"Lanterns? Kaeri? I don't have the slightest gods damned... nnngh. I really don't have time for another--" she stops, and sighs, "I'm sorry. Can't imagine how long you've been stuck here all alone. But whoever you think I am, I'm not her. Name's Mosaic, not... whatever the fuck you said. Same servitor strain maybe? Can't say I've ever seen another one of... whatever I am, though. So probably not."

Mosaic glances across the room to the overgrown coral reef clinging to the window. She shrugs. The name 'Master of Assassins' makes her blood run cold for some weird reason, but she couldn't be anything other than another relic of this weird construct's dream memories. Nothing that boarded this ship the last time it had a [s]Praetor[/s] to advise could still be breathing today.