"Rashad." He repeats the name slowly, stretching the consonants experimentally. "I think I know you." The memories are disorientingly jostled, but the name rings as vaguely, distantly familiar, if only he could trace its origin.

He can't. Lost much can mean anything, and it doesn't help that Rashad's energy, his being, is comprised of something completely foreign to him. He can't begin to guess what Rashad is by composition - Ascension doesn't make him, or anyone, all-knowing. He has the capacity to understand, he's certain of it, but without any basis for comprehension he's useless.

"What have you lost?" he asks, tone falling somewhere between concern and curiosity, and then his form straightens with the realization. "Wait - the day we were cursed. You were - you kept getting things stuck you, right? The network - that was you?"