{ * unsteady }
finally, it’s quiet. all he can hear is heavy breathing of his comrades and some grumbling, but clearly human, not the guttural groans of all the creatures slain today; not the clashing of weapons or shouts of pain that come with a fresh wound.
he is afraid to take in the sight of the ballroom. he fears it will remind him too much of the last battlefield he stood on: the casualties, the bodies, the soldiers he could still put a name to even after their death.
he must, though, to make sure those he cares for most are safe, and it hurts to so much as move. he is not quite broken yet, but he is bruised, so much of his body sliced up by the skeletons’ swords and abominations’ claws after hours of fighting. he feels so heavy, so exhausted, and a little sick to his stomach, and he knows part of it is the eye monsters’ dark magic he couldn’t help but absorb a little of throughout the evening.
there are so many bodies, monsters and people alike. he doesn’t know if it’s dark magic that leaves such a large pit in his stomach, or if it’s simply rational dread. he went into today knowing he would be surrounded by familiar faces, most from his past that he would rather not see again, but now he can’t help but wonder if they’re among the corpses littering the ballroom floor.
for as much as he swore he wanted so many of the gleerians to die, he feels no satisfaction when he considers that they might have today. he takes a moment to look up toward the balcony, searching for gleerium’s rat of a king. he doesn’t see him, but he sees some knights acting casually, so he assumes he’s still up there alive and kicking. that’s one man finn wouldn’t mind dying to some abomination today.
he, however, lives to die another day, as always. as always, he stands among the living for reasons unknown to him, but today, he is too tired to question it. maybe it will haunt him in the coming days, but all he knows now is his aching bones and stinging blood, and it’s far too hard to breathe for his liking.
he searches, searches for familiar faces, and somehow, it’s astrea of all people that he finds first. she appears to be in one piece, thankfully; that’s one friend he can count as alive. she’s a skilled healer, too, and he’s surprised she hasn’t busied herself trying to aid those in trouble yet, though he supposes the fighting really has only just died down. maybe she, like him, is still only catching her breath now.
in many ways, he feels guilty seeking her help when there are so many bodies laying on the ground, some which may still live should astrea heal them. she meets his eyes, however, and he drags himself over with a tired smile, because he figures she wouldn’t let him go even if he tried to get away from her.
“i’m okay,” he assures her before she can even say anything. “there are others here that need your help far more than me, so don’t waste your time on me.” i can help you look for survivors, he nearly says, but he doesn’t know if he can. he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough.
* @ufastrea
