Emet-Selch is right; this isn't his star. And that's the part that sounds so wrong.

Emet-Selch is making the repeated point that this is simply nature's course, that he has no desire to interfere. But he is interfering. Even if Emet-Selch does not care a whit for the people of Magisteria, there's a feeling gnawing at the back of Rhea'li's head, Emet-Selch would not do this.

If he could not be roused to help, then he would bugger off and leave others to their own devices. The question is rather irrelevant; they have already resolved this matter one life ago.

Is Emet-Selch more susceptible to the strange pall that has fallen over the city because his body is made of Bios?

Emet-Selch raises his hand and Rhea'li's ears pin back as he reaches for his grimoire; he is familiar enough with the other man's magical prowess to recognise the careless gesture for what it is. A magical array appears before his fingertips, lengths of magic leaping from the pattern and reaching for Emet-Selch to (Tri)bind him.

"You need to stop!" he repeats, shouting over the rising storm. "This isn't like you!"