"Why?"
Xavier lifted up his heavy and throbbing head to peer at the monster of a mystic hanging out with him in the chamber.
"Why what?" His voice was hoarse and weak, dry. His throat ached from thirst and daggers stabbed at the bowels of his stomach. Goodness, he could drink a river and devour an entire cow right now.
Quazer'Mort gave him a glare above a shoulder. The mystic had spent the last few minutes working at the altar, preparing something Xavier couldn't see. There'd been occasional outburst of flames and smoke so far.
"Why do you care about them?" He sounded equal part disgusted and curious.
Xavier's wrists were raw in the chains, and his arms hurt badly from being so spread apart for so long. He tried to move as little as possible as he spoke, but still had to pause often to catch his breath and surpress the pain.