[ He feels a little sorry now for bringing that up, causing Viktor to visibly deflate in his chair. The rest of his explanation tracks with the bits and pieces of his history that he's told Kahlil, though whether he means they didn't want to se him because of his disabilities and his prior illnesses or his heritage - or both, he can only assume.

Kahlil couldn't have met someone like Viktor in Basawar, for the simple fact that no one like him would survive to adulthood in a place like that.

He frowns now, his brow furrowing as he wraps his hand around his glass, staring down at it. ]

I've never had to stand on a stage before. Not to perform. [ He performs everywhere else. There was the welcome in Vundomu - but it was a train platform, not a stage - and nothing like what Viktor is describing. The thousand rashan'im and kahlirash'im among them were there to honor the future Kahlil, their welcoming ceremony was a holy experience unto itself, terrifying and exhilarating. ]

But I was an outsider among the priests since I was first brought there. I was kept and trained because of my potential - if they could have chosen anyone else, they would've tossed me out in an instant. [ They would have executed him, but that has little to do with what he's trying to say, and so he leaves it out. ]

The priests hated me for things I couldn't change about myself. And so the other acolytes hated me too, because I was all those things and I was still better than them. This is why I had no friends.

[ He shrugs, and glances up at Viktor with a faint, wry smile. ]

Maybe one day you can put an illusion spell on the automaton. Make him do it for you.