lycianlynx

[lycianlynx]

✧ JANUARY 2025

status: passed

skill points acquired: 2 (1 monthly, 1 event) total skill points: 37 -> 39 skill point allocation: weapon x () -> weapon x ()

accessed: mastery: n/a

completed threads: ✦ ✦ dropped threads: ✦ ✦ ✦ threads not yet allocated to mastery: 8 i think

[lycianlynx]

"—I'm fine!" Nothing worse than a few scrapes— And his pride hardly matters at this junction, anyways. As soon as she releases him, he's back on his feet, sword exchanged for shorter blades.

Another host of enemies felled, another group takes their place— Already engaged with several other parties flanking the beast and its cohort. Only working in tandem do blades and arrows fell it, and again the sky thunders, again they are bolstered—

all remaining teams heal 1.5HP. team 4 3.5/4HP.

The beast falls, and they yet stand.

p4 moves right.

@heavy-draw @delicatevalentine @hresvelged

i'm back in the FUCKING building // epiphany finale, unit 4

[lycianlynx]

Far above the battlefield, the two nearly deific presences clash with a resounding blow, and the reminder of what they're fighting for has their number surge forth anew— Both in movement and in body, wounds and scrapes knitting. In short, a little boost in morale never hurt anyone, really.

Not enought to blind, though; All must be taken in measure. Edelgard remains steadfast, driven and prudent, and it's not hard for Chad to defer to her judgement. By her command, his feet shift into defensive posture as he intends to size the opposing forces up, but their party is hardly afforded the luxury—

Shadows lunge for them in periphery.

"To our right!" Chad barks, raising their blade to block— But their parry goes wide.

e2 engages p4! roll 4d10 vs 4d10+4: 32 vs 22. 1 damage to p4!

@hresvelged @heavy-draw @delicatevalentine

i'm back in the FUCKING building // epiphany finale, unit 4

[lycianlynx]

Their own bow fires to fell the hooded figures, their fall confirmed with a lingering eye before they join the others in brisk advance; right, the Projectionist said that everything they reclaim is significant to their overall victory. They check the fallen enemies for any remaining signs of life, Wo Dao in their grasp. Mercifully, nothing.

"It's fine. We got them."

This time. Despite the declaration, their guard doesn't drop. As their eyes scan the surroundings for any further danger, though...

They crouch. Pick up the little doll, that little armored bear. It's a little beat up, definitely suffered for sitting in the open for so long, and they don't even know if its owner still lives...

Which makes it all the more important they get it home. They slip it into a pouch on their belt, make sure it's secure.

"We should rejoin the others."

unit 4 moves back down.

@heavy-draw @delicatevalentine @hresvelged

i'm back in the FUCKING building // epiphany finale, unit 4

[lycianlynx]

Again, they march towards the monastery. Again, they are framed by the crags of the Goddess' Throat. Again, enemies lie in wait over every rocky crest.

But this time, they are ready. They march, armed and resolved. They are homeward, homeward bound. Each step they take is another inch reclaimed, an advance to seize.

This time, Chad does not run ahead alone. Their own formation of four closes in on robed insurgents as those of the Monastery surge forward, together, blades and bows in hand—

p4 engages e8! roll 4d10+4 vs 4d10: 22 vs 21. 1 damage to both parties!

They are not the type to fight noisily. But as the cacophany of battle begins to ring throughout Her throat, they cannot help the raw warcry it wrests from them in response: we're so close, forward, forward—!

@heavy-draw @delicatevalentine @hresvelged

i'm back in the FUCKING building // epiphany finale, unit 4

[lycianlynx]

So often Maria is the warmth of their brightening sky, the hue of a new day; Chad worries, too, from whence she blooms, but they are not her soil or the rain or the roots. Brightness in the dark is seldom innate and even less infalliable, but as long as they can give her a reason for her vibrancy...

... Yes. They don't know her sorrows, and they realise she doesn't know theirs. Entrusting them feels terrifying, and maybe she feels the same, but to entrust eachother with these—flighty-ticklish things, their likes, these little concessions of attachment and affection—

All else will follow with time. After the bashful newness wears down and the instant blushes burn out. Scarlet graces the tips of their ears as they scrunch up, but they do not realise they shine, here, too, as they subtly burrow their face into their collar, yet unwilling to tear their eyes away lest she disappears.

They're not one to stay at eye-level with their feelings. They do not look away. They blink, once, slow. Her hand is steady in theirs. Their rough thumb runs over the back of her slightly-dry one, catching, just as ticklish.

"I like you," bursts out after a beat as both mirror and answer; please don't disappear. For things to come with time, they both need to stay. Kindness or selfishness, it is offered to her, bare and gentle-beating, with open hands, always.

"I like the way your eyes crease when you laugh, I like the way your hair falls into your face when you tilt your head like that, I like when you humor me with something I thought was goddamn embarrassing. Sure I like drawing, and flowers, and sweets, but all of it's started reminding me of you too— Every day. Always. I— I like you, so."

Her hand, her slightly-dry knuckles are brought to chapped lips. A hushed kiss is pressed quickly between the first two. Chad does not look away, even when his lips are a pressed into a nervous line as he peers up. "... We should get to go back together in time for it."

stay.

Once again, brown eyes seek rose-red, like a fox to its burrow, like an eagle to an aerie— Find her, mostly unharmed like all the rest of them, the most they can ask for in this bunker, arrayed together like needles in a sewing-box. They cannot help the way their face softens when they look to her.

"Maria!" They call out, padding over eagerly, two parts of their spoils cradled in their arms; A Heal staff, an anima spell of relative potency. They take her hand, press both into it with both of their own and hold them there, warm and alive and mostly unharmed.

"Here," and here, they smile, "I found these for you while I was out. We need to keep working hard, yeah?"

After a beat, it erodes slightly at the edges, but not for want of affection; only the usual fretting. "... But don't overdo it. We're all gonna make it back, so we should act like it."

chad traded heal (15/20) and rabbit scroll (15/15) to maria!

There is an uncommon distance in her eyes as she stares elsewhere, the turn of her head just a beat slow, the smile on her lips a slighter shape at first.

"...Chad!" But again, not for want of affection; it reaches its full bloom as she beholds him, rising from her seat, allowing them one hand as the other hovers at their elbow. Fingers curl over her newfound gifts, a ticklish note further brightening her expression with its warm hues. "...For me? Hee hee!" The giggle quite slips past her lips without her permission, but she allows it, eyes squeezed shut in the moment and narrowed fondly when it passes.

And he worries for her. The waiting hand at last alights upon his elbow, a gentle touch holding him in place as she twists around to lay the presents on her perch. Another twist to return to him and there she simply looks.

"I like you," Maria declares suddenly, certainly. "I like you a lot," she says again, just so he can be sure. Her head tilts to one side, hair curtaining over her shoulder, and something sparkles in her eyes -- grateful, if touched by a sort of sorrow.

"I like your pretty eyes. Your shiny smile." She pulls her hand back to herself and catches his along the way, clasping it in both. "This kindness."

A breath in, and then at last -- a breath out. Her head feels clearer again.

"Thank you for bringing me these, Chad. Hee hee... You showed up right when I needed you!" Back and forth, she swings their hands to an easy rhythm, grin at bloom once more. "But, can I ask you one more favor? Tell me some things you like! It'll make planning your birthday present that much easier, heeheehee!"

[lycianlynx]

"...Here..." Whatever happened to hi, how are you? Or hey Chad, glad you're safe? Or even just a simple hello?

No, Chad is greeted with a steel sword, blade thankfully pointed down at the ground. Compared to the rough condition most of the weapons found in the bunker are in, the sword looks like it has come right off the rack of an armory. Untouched by the grime and wear of battle, it glints softly in the low light of the makeshift bunker.

Despite the relatively impersonal way she offers the weapon, Sophia's eyes sweep anxiously over Chad, checking for any sign of injury. Finding nothing, the tension she's carrying in her furrowed brow eases into something resembling relief.

With the sword, she offers a reassurance: "I went out for supplies... with Alear. He... was very kind to me."

A beat as her gaze flicks down to the blood that has since dried at the hem of her skirt and then back to Chad. "Oh... it's monster blood... Don't worry."

Sophia trades Chad Steel Sword (40/40 Durability)!

"Oh—"

Anxious brown likewise sweeps her form in mirror, noting the grime that's made a home on all of them at this point, the blood at the hem of her dress— Dried, not fresh, worn again by travel. It's impossible to expect anyone to be better than just fine, but it's still far from selfish to hope they are unharmed. She is, relatively. A small comfort.

That makes the state of the sword all the more remarkable, doesn't it? To ask for anything to be pristine in times like these feels impossible, but here it is. Chad does not care for the lack of fanfare, and takes the blade from her by the hilt, letting its weight settle in his palm.

Supplies... Supplies. Those sound like a good idea. Maybe they'll go out for some, too— Might even find a tome for her, maybe, monsters be damned.

"... Alear, huh?" they ask, recalling that name, too, from the stupid candy game. "... I'll remember."

They offer her a smile, small, exhausted, but a smile nontheless. "Thanks. I'll repay you soon."

[lycianlynx]

If the thief didn’t want to be found it would be difficult for anyone to find them, and nigh impossible for Elffin. But still he searches, because to stop would be to acknowledge that they were gone. 

There were enough that he searched for that he could not find inside this bunker, and as his sight blurred he found that he must accept he would be unable to find them any time soon. But it was hard to stop his slow circuit around the area, still offering to help when he could.

A miracle it is, then, that he catches wind of a voice that he recognizes. He searches for it, now at least having a destination in mind. “Chad? Is that you?”

Though not trying to hide, especially not now, repeated rounds around and about the bunker render them difficult to pin down— Always moving, always seaching, burning the candle from every which way. Exhaustion sits heavy on their shoulders, crushing their form smaller than ever.

Still, they lift their head against it at a familiar voice, and relief floods them; any familiarity, any security, any surety is a liifeline to any soul here, and Chad is no different.

No, moreso for them. Sore feet turn on heel, clumsy but still quiet, heading towards Elffin, stopping a few paces before him, before sagging, relieved.

"Elffin," is the response. Their voice sticks, for a moment, before they swallow, thick. "Yeah. It's me."

And they offer their hand, palm-up. Touch, warmth, proof of life, an exchange. The next statement, too, question, confirmation: "You're okay..."

[lycianlynx]

The reprieve is brief, but welcome— Small enemy patrols all something their group can handle. Their ankle is looked at, the cuts on their shin and forehead cleaned and patched. Before they know it, their number goes hurtling back into the cave, and once more Rafal shifts into that serpentine form, comfortable in his power even in enclosed space.

Their job is to make sure nothing escapes; Pin them down, clean them up where thunderous blows do not quite reach. Rafal's allowance is taken as such. Once again, Chad draws, aims,

chad attacks crest beast (bird) with gandiva! roll: 13 + 2 = 15. autocrit! 5 damage. crest beast (bird) 0/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from crest beast (bird). crest beast (bird) has been defeated!

And fires. Plucked out of the air with a broken cry, the beast goes tumbling down to the floor next to its mangled fellow. They try not to linger on the gnashed bone for too long, instead looking for their next target, only to get caught in an exhale of fumes— Biting back a gasp, they push the collar of their cloak up to their nose, squinting through the sting to find:

Another body hitting the wall with a crunch, then the ground with a thump. Gaze swivels to the next source of movement, flailing limbs and sapping magic. Eyes narrow as it staggers back. Again, they fall seamlessly into step to assist.

... There!

chad attacks autonomous husk with gandiva! roll: 6 + 2 = 8. hit! 2.5 damage. autonomous husk 0/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from autonomous husk. autonomous husk has been defeated!

A well-placed arrow in what would constitute a throat handily stops the husk in its tracks, soundlessly slumping to the ground. But where they would keep going, a rattling breath distracts them—

... Is that coming from themself? Shit. Earlier fumes show their fangs as they slip into cover to practically cough up their lungs.

cloaked figure steals 1 ap from chad!

Judging by the smashing noise and the laughter, though, all would be well.

@heriteur @rafent @ashenprofessor

no healers attack only final destination // week 1 combat team 3

[lycianlynx]

Barely a moment for respite, and they are back in the thick of it— Better prepared, this time, thanks to Rafal's scouting. Chad had to rally themself to not openly gape at his soaring form earlier, like a Demon Dragon's yet decidedly more serpentine, coiling down gracefully towards the wisping smoke that signalled their campfire...

It's a near-bewitching mental image. They make note to memorialise it in charcoal when they get the chance. For now, the light grows dimmer, wind and wet making their campfire gutter. Thief's eyes stay bright, looking to where their teammates do not, but even that can only bring them as a group so far: A cackle rends the air, and suddenly, the earth buckles beneath them—

masked man casts quake. hit! chad takes 2 damage. chad 6/10HP.

Their ankle rolls slightly, their shin stings fierce, but they dart out of the way of anything further, watch as Byleth cuts down their assailant and the red-haired man cuts down another in their periphery. Their focus lies on the sky, had seen the other shadow falling upon their party, bowstring already drawn.

Daggers, they are called, and to it they respond. "On it!"

chad attacks crest beast (bird) with gandiva! roll: 19 + 6 = 17. autocrit! 5 damage. crest beast (bird) 1/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from crest beast (bird). dazzle activates! chad gains +6 avoid. crest beast (bird) counters with rend and talon! roll: 13 - 8 = 5, 2 - 8 = -6. hit, miss! 1 damage. chad 5/10HP.

chad attacks crest beast (bird) with gandiva! roll: 15 + 8 = 23. autocrit! 5 damage. crest beast (bird) 0/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from crest beast (bird). crest beast (bird) has been defeated!

They are a thief, not a Sacaen marksman, but their bow still does the job— An arrow nocked and loosed, skewering a wing and sending the creature spiraling downwards. In a familiar rage, it spends its final throes trying to gouge out Chad's eyes in a shrieking fury, which the boy puts an end to with a hard swat and a second well-placed arrow, a scratch to their forehead all the beast had to show for its fury.

... It bleeds freely into their eye, looking worse than it is. They put a hand to it to check and wince when it comes away red— Vision so impaired, they hear the hoofbeats before they see the rider. Their head snaps around as they move to regroup.

"One more!"

@ashenprofessor

no healers attack only final destination // week 1 combat team 3

[lycianlynx]

On the field, yet another beast throws itself towards blade— All teeth and claws and maddened rage, crimson glinting in the firelight. All that, and yet still somehow entirely undermined by the hulking thing of stone tumbling into view at its heels that Rafal immediately besets. Chad's teeth grit, nocking and drawing, aim true at the creature whose hide he knows his arrows can pierce.

"Focus! I'll keep the wolf off you!" they shout, separating only slightly from the other two, and let fly.

chad attacks crest beast b (wolf) with gandiva! roll: 15 + 2 = 17. hit! 2.5 damage. crest beast (wolf) 3.5/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from crest beast (wolf). dazzle activates! chad gains +6 avoid. crest beast b (wolf) counters with claw and tear! roll: 14 - 10 = 4, 2 - 10 = -8. hit, miss! 1 damage. chad 9/10HP.

chad attacks crest beast b (wolf) with gandiva! roll: 4 + 4 = 17. hit! 2.5 damage. crest beast (wolf) 1/6HP. gandiva activates! chad steals 2 avo from crest beast (wolf). dazzle activates! chad gains +6 avoid. crest beast b (wolf) counters with claw and tear! roll: 14 - 10 = 4, 3 - 10 = -7. hit, miss! 1 damage. chad 8/10HP.

A flash rocks the cave. Undeterred, two arrows fly rapid-fire, pierce fur and flesh, first hobbling the creature, then landing true between its ribs, spilling sanguine onto the floor— But its reckless bounds do not stop.

Instead, it leaps for them, snarling, blood splattering noisily from its chest, heedless of its own wounds; they narrowly evade the snap of jaws, but even their finest footwork cannot save them from the savage swipes that follow. Claws graze an arm brought up to block, an ankle that attempts to tear away. It's too close for a third shot, but that's fine—

chad attacks crest beast b (wolf) with gandiva! roll: 8 + 6 = 14. hit! 2.5 damage. crest beast (wolf) 0/6HP.

With a snarl, they pull a knife to plunge into the beast's skull before it can do any more damage, and after a few twitches, it is still. Kicking the carcass off of them, they turn to check on their allies and—

—IS THAT A FUCKING DRAGON?

@ashenprofessor

no healers attack only final destination // week 1 combat team 3

[lycianlynx]

The sounds of combat fade. Chad's head lifts from their stoking the fire at the sound of footfalls approaching— The weather had turned for the worse, threatening to choke the flame out, but their work had kept it from guttering, only dimming slightly. It's only when they stand to prepare something to eat for the returning party that they realise something is off: The heartiest-looking of their number being carried rather than walking on his own, limp and bleeding.

"Fuckin'— What happened?!"

Hardly waiting for an answer, they usher the Professors into camp and begin to fuss worse, working to stem the bleeding, to stabilise; Busy hands bear fruit, suppressing faint tremors as they go, too dextrous and knowledgeable for their age, but effective all the same; A spark of rough-hewn Faith on top is then enough, though it can't do much more than soothe.

... Again, it's mindboggling how damn sturdy this guy is.

"He'll recover." They breathe, before turning to the other two, stress curling their lip over any kind of malice, but eyes glinting, daring them to stop him. "But I'm going out there, too. We're not doing this with any one of us less."

@heriteur @rafent @ashenprofessor

no healers attack only final destination // week 1 combat team 3

[lycianlynx]

hands these doodles over and nyooms

but also bonus al being very different in the mood:

[lycianlynx]

When you push past all reasonable boundaries, there comes a point at which your body will force you to rest— And despite the efforts of many, they've never managed to string themself any lower in the interim. Suffice to say, Chad should have reached that breaking point twice over by now.

Yes, blood boils, but flesh also blisters against its heat. Though they set out all steel, the wall of fatigue skips a day or two and hits them worst at their camp, at forward position, and even then it's barely by the insistences of no less than 3 (three!) Professors of varying intensity that they don't string their bow and come along on patrol anyways.

It's. It's really, really embarrassing, actually.

And they'll go crazy if they're left alone with the thought of it. Yes, they can force him off the field, but unsupervised, noone can stop them from keeping watch and busying their hands with a shelter worth returning to.

The campfire is tended, stones and underbrush cleared to allow for easier rest, rations prepared with idle hands for a hot meal for aching bones, their own weapons maintained. Miraculously, they manage not to nick their hands during.

All the while, they listen, and watch, and wait, for any sign of victorious return.

chad takes first watch. spent 3 ap to restore 6 hp to campfire. campfire 13hp.

@rafent @heriteur @ashenprofessor

no healers attack only final destination // week 1 combat team 3

[lycianlynx]

There it is. A foot to the left is still a step away from where they linger, and a step to something else. you try again. As long as breath is in his lungs, as long as he can move forward, forward. You try again, because what else can you do? Even after everything that happened, Al is still Al, and Chad is still Chad because the grief and despair is part of them too. Neither of them are the type to roll over and die.

And Chad— Ever has love and grief moved them. Ever has the need for security, too. And if they do not at least try and reach the rubble of Garreg Mach, they will never know, and will regret not knowing forever. So yes: There is nothing else they could do, but this.

"I will," they answer, gaze cast on their hands, balling them into fists. "Soon."

They aren't any less tense. But their shoulders no longer look as if they are being crushed by a night-black weight. Eyes lift again, quiet earth calling to soaring sky.

"So I'm telling you now. You won't be chasing me because we'll be going together, yeah?

Al's seen better days. He's definitely seen worse ones, too. Being caked in mud wasn't awfully out of the ordinary. Being bruised, nicked, and battered was only a little less common. The twisted ankle is pretty annoying, but he's not moving that much slower for it, so it's tolerable. And he hasn't noticed anything of his missing, either, so that's a plus.

It all also means there's little distraction from what all's happened. There's no time to slow down, so he makes his way through the halls, finding who he can so he knows who he needs to look for when he heads back out. Each familiar face—

"Chad!"

—lessens the pressure in his chest a little.

Al's voice is loud enough that he can be heard from across the room, but he's quick enough that the distance is closed in no time flat.

"You're here too." Well, duh. Obviously. Or maybe not so obvious—he wouldn't have been surprised if Chad had still been out there fighting tooth and nail by himself, given his track record. But he's glad he's not. "What the hell happened out there? Did you see the kinda weapons they were packing?"

(He himself hadn't, actually. But he'd felt what'd hit their bridge, and that'd been enough to know this was a different ballgame.)

He looks the other boy head to toe. It's not subtle.

"They didn't get you too bad, did they?"

"Al," Chad breathes. Somehow, they hadn't been too worried about him for even a second. He could wind up in Hell and claw his way out, they think. Something about the guy... Mm. Nothing short of death, if it could even catch him, would keep him from keeping on, tooth and nail— They feel stupid just thinking it, but he makes them think that way, for once. Fuckin' maniac.

Still, he's alive, too. And they're so, so relieved.

"'I'm alive," Chad offers in return, which should be enough— Though they're too tired to attempt to inject any mirth or bite, leaving their tone hollow. Can't shake off the old dark hound that looms larger than ever, latched firmly now onto their leg, jaws locked and unrelenting to try for more. It's all they can offer, at all. Hours in the Goddess' Throat, of fighting their way towards any sliver of hope, of finding nothing and having to flee, of hiding, left them just as hollowed-out and aching.

Brown eyes fix on blue, like looking for a lodestar. Al is still bright, vibrant even in the dim light of the cave. It's hard not to look to him in the moment. They are so goddamned relieved. And still...

"The flash, right?" they grimace. "Everything was shaking. And the— There were monsters like husks and rocks..."

A huff, curt, bitten. "—Fuck do you even do against something like that?"

[lycianlynx]

Has there ever been a choice? What could they even have done? Back then, and now, each the same. You brace and fret and prepare and it still means nothing when it all comes crashing down.

And yet. And yet. This time, they aren't the last pillar to hold onto, not completely unmoored from pieces of stability and home that will keep them from drowning. It is miserable, yes, but it is misery shared.

More tears drip down their face, and for the moment, they let them. Fighting them makes it worse, it always does— Their only resistance the sleeve that attempts to scrub them away to clear their eyes enough to just look. Look, and see: Raven is real, and warm, and alive. Just as he had once let their tears fall silently, so too do they his, even if the guilt of it threatens to bury them.

But are they not doing the same? They drop their head back into the embrace, let the rest of the tears soak his shirt as slim shoulders heave, once, twice— Stuttering sob, deep breath. It's all right. It's hard to believe, but for the moment, they try.

"We're here," Chad repeats, "we're together." to ground. Their face mashes into the hollow of Raven's neck, eyes screwed shut. "Cornwell..."

They sigh, go slack. "Yeah. We're Cornwell. We'll be alright..."

There was almost no need, even, to look.

If there was one thing he knew about the boy, it was that he would have a bead on every face that moved through the space, regardless of its relevance to the situation. It was a constant of any place that Chad trod, and it was a constant of any place that Raven trod, as well.

It was harder to find the boy in a crowd, due to his size, but there were tells. The peripheries of the clustered groups, those who had begin to come together, those empty spaces along the walls where it may have been less claustrophobic; other faces he might have seen nearby, those for the lad to fuss over; or, most tellingly, the gaps in that crush of bodies, the pockets where a body might have fit.

Raven's eyes zeroed in, saw the shift in the tide and pushed his way forward. "Chad?" Rose his voice over the crowd – if the boy were here, he would hear him.

"Chad?" Again, louder, trailing the now deliberate movement of the crowd, bodies being pushed to one side, and Raven stepped into those spaces, meeting the boy halfway, dropping to one knee before he had realized and crushing an arm about the boy's shoulders to draw him into a hug.

Drawing back, hands on Chad's shoulders, he began the tedious work – hen's work – of assessing the boy's face, his scrawny limbs, pressing gently against his torso. "Are you all right? No damage?"

Chad would never write off the call of a familiar voice as a spectre, no matter how impossible it would seem, no matter what time has passed— This voice is one he knows well even in slumber, one he seeks like shelter in a storm. Words stick in their throat on the first attempt to respond, a mumble of lips all they can muster in stunned fatigue, at first—

Their second attempt bursts from their lungs all the louder for it.

"Raven!" They are not tall or strong enough for elbows and shoulders to have effect. They are too tired to slip through the cracks like water, and tumble more like a rock through a grate.

And so, the pebble of their form tumbles directly into Raven's waiting arms with a vengeance, crashing into, holding onto him like a lifeline. Chad looks like shit. He is alive. They are both alive.

In this fleeting moment, his face seeks shelter in the comfort of Raven's shoulder, pressing into it to inhale leftover traces of smoke, blood, sweat, dirt— He doesn't care, doesn't care as his fingers scrabble to crush in turn, fiercely. A hiccup, the first syllable of Uncle, before he pulls back, teeth grit on the word, grinding over the next:

"I'm fine," they are visibly shaking, and look like shit, "I hid," uttered with deep shame, "I'm—" A hiss as something tender is bothered, tears springing to their eyes again.

"—Fffck." A shaky breath. "I can handle it." Not untrue. "I..."

And the entire time their hands are still scrambling in turn to do the same, the motions of a boy used to picking up after others, shaking with the near miss of losing another anew. Cherishing hen's limbs get underfoot of eachother. That doesn't matter.

What does: Their voice is small. Tears are starting to form tracks down the dirt on their face. "Uncle Raven..."

[lycianlynx]

Al's seen better days. He's definitely seen worse ones, too. Being caked in mud wasn't awfully out of the ordinary. Being bruised, nicked, and battered was only a little less common. The twisted ankle is pretty annoying, but he's not moving that much slower for it, so it's tolerable. And he hasn't noticed anything of his missing, either, so that's a plus.

It all also means there's little distraction from what all's happened. There's no time to slow down, so he makes his way through the halls, finding who he can so he knows who he needs to look for when he heads back out. Each familiar face—

"Chad!"

—lessens the pressure in his chest a little.

Al's voice is loud enough that he can be heard from across the room, but he's quick enough that the distance is closed in no time flat.

"You're here too." Well, duh. Obviously. Or maybe not so obvious—he wouldn't have been surprised if Chad had still been out there fighting tooth and nail by himself, given his track record. But he's glad he's not. "What the hell happened out there? Did you see the kinda weapons they were packing?"

(He himself hadn't, actually. But he'd felt what'd hit their bridge, and that'd been enough to know this was a different ballgame.)

He looks the other boy head to toe. It's not subtle.

"They didn't get you too bad, did they?"

"Al," Chad breathes. Somehow, they hadn't been too worried about him for even a second. He could wind up in Hell and claw his way out, they think. Something about the guy... Mm. Nothing short of death, if it could even catch him, would keep him from keeping on, tooth and nail— They feel stupid just thinking it, but he makes them think that way, for once. Fuckin' maniac.

Still, he's alive, too. And they're so, so relieved.

"'I'm alive," Chad offers in return, which should be enough— Though they're too tired to attempt to inject any mirth or bite, leaving their tone hollow. Can't shake off the old dark hound that looms larger than ever, latched firmly now onto their leg, jaws locked and unrelenting to try for more. It's all they can offer, at all. Hours in the Goddess' Throat, of fighting their way towards any sliver of hope, of finding nothing and having to flee, of hiding, left them just as hollowed-out and aching.

Brown eyes fix on blue, like looking for a lodestar. Al is still bright, vibrant even in the dim light of the cave. It's hard not to look to him in the moment. They are so goddamned relieved. And still...

"The flash, right?" they grimace. "Everything was shaking. And the— There were monsters like husks and rocks..."

A huff, curt, bitten. "—Fuck do you even do against something like that?"