[At the mention of religion outlining servitude, Barnabas falls silent again. He cannot recall anything of that sort, yet his mind fixates on it as if it is familiar to him. Like looking at an image he should recognize, yet he cannot, regardless of how much he knows he should. In fact, that's oddly part of the conundrum, he feels something, a pulse of...emotion, dim as it is compared to the signal blaze others feelings tend to be. Yet there is an ember of something, a pitiful red struggling through the ash of his emotional remains.

He cannot name it, not really. The feeling itself is foreign though he does not know why. It aches, in a way, like flexing a muscle atrophied from disuse, but he does not dislike it. However, as quickly as it manifested, it is gone. Still, it inspires to chase that feeling, that thought, and as pain greets him, he doesn't back off this time.

Should Ademnet catch sight of his face, his gaze seems a little distant, as if his mind is elsewhere entirely. Even as he opens the tavern door for them and speaks.]

Do you believe it so simple? To disregard what truths which were first spun into the liar's tapestry only begets further ignorance.