The answer to Desmond's question was that it made zero sense. Absolutely and completely zero. Now that he wasn't shivering too badly to even be able to see straight, he could clearly look around and realize just how different everything looked. Half of these things shouldn't exist. Not the radiate heat that definitely wasn't coming from the fire, and not the mysterious little device that was currently strapped to his wrist.

It takes a moment for all of it to compute within his mind, before he was shifting, lowering himself onto the floor, one leg curled in close to his body with the other bent, arms coming to rest on his knee.

On one hand, it was good to know that order had survived for so very long. And on the other -

- Desmond was his descendant. Holy. Shit.

"What was my father's name?" It was something relatively simple, but he hoped that it would have at least been passed down.