Ilian remained frozen in place as he watched their hand twitch. Then their eyes fluttered open, cognac eyes locking with dark steel grey for a moment before they explored the tank they resided in. His earlier train of thought repeats. How could anyone turn and flee? When he looks at them, fully awake and alive it’s not terror that grips him but a muffled mixture of pride and awe.

It’s only when they reach out, gurgling, attempting to speak, that he realizes they had gotten out of their tank.

Instinctively Ilian rushes forward as they collapse, broken from his stupor, before pausing abruptly a half a foot away, too late and too weak to catch them anyhow. He leans his cane against the side of the tank, kneeling down beside his creation, examining them for any injury.

“I apologize,” he says, attempting to help them sit back up with some effort, “I didn’t expect you would attempt to walk so soon.”

He glances about the room, looking for the cart he had prepared beforehand with supplies for after they had awoken. He places his hand on their shoulder briefly before grabbing hold of the side of the tank to ease himself up, making his way over to the cart settled on the wall opposite of his creation’s resting place.

Rolling it over, he grabs a vial of water, kneeling down beside his creation once more and offering it to them.