Death. Something that Gaja only experienced in short, fleeting bursts. Something he has no memory of. Dying, yes, vague impressions. But being dead? That he doesn't remember at all, and probably wouldn't even if his memory wasn't full of holes after each rebirth. It's not the sort of experience he thinks one is supposed to remember.

Was he afraid when they were together, he wonders. It isn't dying that scares him, it happens regularly. It's that he's most often alone when it happens. He's alone with his hazy memories of the pain of phoenix fire burning out of his control to consume him, bones and all.

It takes a few seconds, but Gaja bravely closes the rest of the distance between them until he's standing before Death. A second or two more before he smiles. A real, warm smile. "Then, we're very good friends."