[As much as he wants it to be, "try" isn't satisfactory. It leaves too much room for doubt and his dismay shows in a flicker of a frown. Afraid of exposing more, he turns away, staring at Ryan's coils.]

To simplify it, we tortured ourselves. Most of it we did alone, under the supervision of our personal instructors. Some of it... [he sighs] ... While the rest of my city enjoyed the harvest, we went through the Beating Months. It's as it sounds. Each month, we were assigned a fellow candidate. Each month we would beat them. Torture them until both of our instructors issued an order to stop. We were encouraged to be creative. To go lower than most here could even go. When they deemed the session over, the one beaten was given the needed time to recover and we—I—would be follow in their place. Tortured, that is.

That and the self-flagellation were meant to harden us. Dull our senses to pain and secure our minds so that we could overcome our Joining with the god. So that we could last with him inside us. It's why I can't feel minor pains. Cuts, bruises, even broken bones are dull aches to me. [He glances at Ryan.] I'm not certain you've noticed. It's not something I've tried to hide. Largely because I can't. It's hard to act in pain when you can't even recognize it.