Welcome to Gaia! ::

Cynthus cradled the side of her face as she pushed herself up. Everything hurt, but none of it won out over the anger. She looked around but saw no sign of the General. She stretched her senses in case he’d gone somewhere near enough to be a problem but felt nothing on her mental radar.

Not that a General needed to be close to be a problem.

With a groan, Cynthus got up onto her knees. They had to get out of there. If they could get out of there. Where was everyone? Reims had sent his lion, so he must be alive. (Don’t die, you jerk.) Halle had sent his boar and his shield, so he must be alive, too. There might have been magic; Cynthus had been too distracted by the bitchslap across the face to notice whose magic did what. She thought she’d seen unicorns. Had that been Lisse?

Lyon was near with Reims’ sword. Rose was huddled in the corner. Dering was alive; Cynthus had seen him move. And Ephesus…

“Effie!”

They needed Effie.

Cynthus scrambled for the broken pieces of her crook. She crawled through the muck and snatched them up on her way to the slumped figure against the wall. His hair was stained with blood, but he looked like he was breathing. Cynthus held the halves of her crook tightly, trying to channel enough of her magic into Ephesus to take some of the pain away. Enough to wake him. Enough so he could function.

“Ephesus, wake up! Come on, I need you. Effie! Mary needs you!”

Mary! Where the hell was Mary?

“Where’s Mary?” she said aloud, glancing this way and that. He was the only one whose whereabouts she hadn’t been able to determine while the General was going on his rampage. “Mary, is that you? Are you alright? Effie’s hurt!”

It had been enough. And while there was a lingering sense of for now and a very immediate sense of, we need to get out of here, it was still enough of a victory to pull Halle fully away from the failure that still haunted him. The literal shock to the system helped in a way, it wasn’t great, but it helped clear his head from the fight and back into the moment’s necessities.

Breathing hurt in a way that he was pretty certain meant it’d be hurting for at least a few weeks, maybe more. But he could breathe and he could move despite the pain and so it was time to make sure everybody else could too. Standing hurt as much as breathing, but still he leaned down as much as he was able and offered a hand to help Stirling up. Staring down for a moment he moved his hand over to her other side, that looked less…damaged.

“Still alive,” he assured her with a wry smile.

He heard Cynthus, and would have laughed over her using Amarynthos being hurt to get Ephesus going, then turning right to using Ephesus being hurt to get Amarynthos to rise back up. Except, the last sight he’d had of Mary was simply too…harrowing. Yeah, that was the word for it. With his free hand, Halle brought his flashlight back out to see if he could get a better look at the others.

The beam kept shaking and it took too long to realize that it was his hand shaking, that as calm as thought he was in his mind, his body was still panicking. The light illuminated the center of the room more fully, the plants were healing.

“Does anybody,” he croaked, then coughed. “I can take three people up with me.” The thought of bringing any bit of this stuff to his wonder was awful, but that would, at least, be a future problem. Right now they had more than enough right now problems. “We can’t leave the way we came.” Too long, too dangerous, and they were way too injured for it.

Stirling looked up at Halle and forced a smile, taking the proffered hand and getting up, holding her injured arm as still as possible, but still trying to just pretend that nothing was wrong. “I need to get my rapier…I…if we’re going somewhere else, I don’t want to be without it…”

On the Moon or not…she was feeling. Unsafe right now. Carefully she looked around the room and swallowed, not knowing what to do. She wasn’t a healer. She didn’t have any magic that was useful now. She had fumbled when the General had been attacking and now she was nothing but a dead weight that was sure as Hell not going to let anyone catch on that she was injured at all. Because, looking around, she was hardly hurt. Others were bleeding.

Bleeding out, her mind unhelpfully said and she shook her head violently, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the pain in her head.

Swiftly, or as swiftly as she could, she moved to get her rapier, dodging the plants that were growing back…horribly, horribly growing back, and without a second thought, she began striking at them with all the rage she could muster from one hand.

If she could keep them at bay while they regrouped, while they got themselves to the Moon…that was something, wasn’t it?

A few more whacks and she looked around. “I can’t heal. I can’t do anything but this right now, I’m sorry…but the Celestial Theater sounds great, Reims.”

They had done it. Lisse kind of wanted to cry in relief, but that wasn’t a cool thing to do, especially not in front of his brother and Reims…who were both alive, which was very good. Halle was standing, and Reims was talking. Stirling was up, everything was so chaotic though, and he made his way to Reims who hadn’t stood. And to Yvoire who was….damn. Who was very bloody.

Lisse ripped the cape from his shoulder and stumbled over to the pair of Ganymede Knights. “We’re going, but what can I do to help? I know for a fact this is good for stopping bleeding or at least…”

His quilted cape wouldn't be good for this, he was sure but…now that he saw the expanse of the damage…but…

“Do you want me to apply pressure?” Carefully he held the cape out, not wanting to overstep, but not knowing what else to really do at the moment.

…Juice wouldn’t be able to fix this.

It was strange to feel both searing heat and icy cold at once. Amarynthos figured his body was overwhelmed–unable to make heads or tails of what it was supposed to feel, beyond, of course, pain. But, he still felt something, and even if the corners of his vision were swimming, they weren’t dimming.

“Um,” he answered Cynthus, “Yeah, I’m–you know, I’ve had better days, I think. Hold on, I’m coming, Effie.”

He hadn’t looked down, not since the sword had first pierced him. His mind recognized it was bad but he also told himself ‘you’ll bleed quicker if you freak out’. He wasn’t freaking out. But he was still bleeding. A lot.

He held his hand into his stomach, but no matter how tightly he pressed his fingers together, every heartbeat pushed a little more out. He was bleeding from his back too but his other hand fisted around his staff. It was the only thing keeping him upright. For the moment.

Amarynthos didn’t need to look down to see the damage, but he did anyway and, as expected, the front of his uniform was stained a dark red, from his stomach down both legs, even his boots.

On the plus side, he didn’t think his spinal column had been hit. Maybe not even nerves. The positives ended there. He tried to hold onto reason, tried to force his heart and lungs to coordinate, to slow down, to buy a few more seconds. If he timed this right, he might have five–maybe ten–minutes before he bled out.

‘Let’s aim for ten,’ the rational part of his mind said, and the competitive part of his mind said, ‘let’s aim for twenty. I dare you.’

You can’t back down from a dare, of course, so Amarynthos accepted. He drove the tip of the staff into the ground and, with all the effort he could muster, forced himself up from his knees.

Blood surged through his fingers, but he held his breath and told himself, ‘It’s fine, you know you can fix this. It’s fine. You’re still in one piece. Blood’s blood, and everything’s still inside and–

He had taken only two slow steps before he saw Yvoire and froze.

The optimistic voice in his head said ‘those are vines’ but he knew better, and he couldn’t waste his energy on optimism. For a few seconds, he lost control of his heart. More than pain, he felt fear.

“Reims,” he said, too sharp. Reims moved. Not much, but enough that Amarynthos was certain he was alive–and conscious. “Yvoire, can you–Reims, is he awake?”

Lisse was next to them. Amarynthos wanted to crouch down but he knew if he did, he probably wouldn’t be able to get up again. He stood over them instead, leaning heavily on his staff.

“Lisse, wait–before you apply pressure. Don’t touch him where he’s bleeding. Do it where you can see that he’s not. If you get too close to–”

He knew the words, he just couldn’t say them.

“–where he’s cut, he might wind up more hurt. His–”

He couldn’t just say internal organs.

“–That stuff’s too sensitive. Make sure you’re not touching it. Can you see well? If you can’t, don’t risk it.”

He drew in a breath and glanced up briefly, searching the distance for Ephesus. “Sorry,” he called, just to keep him from worrying. “I’m moving a little slow, Effie.”

Taking one step closer to Lisse, Amarynthos said, much softer, “Can you–actually, can you wrap the blanket around him, try to keep him warm?”

He looked between Reims and Lisse.

“You need to get him out of here as quickly as possible. There’s no way we can treat that here. It’s too dark, and it’s too dirty.”

He couldn’t even see how much blood Yvoire had lost, and it looked like the ground was drinking it up anyway. His legs were unsteady, but he could feel the ground moving, pulsing.

The world was shifting. Amarynthos exhaled sharply–too much, he felt the warmth between his fingers gush. He pushed harder into his stomach and gritted his teeth.

He couldn’t get the image of Yvoire out of his head, so even when he looked away, he couldn’t calm his heart.

Across the room, it wasn’t difficult for Dering to tell that something was wrong. Amarynthos would have rushed over to Ephesus first thing if he’d been able to.

Dering had slowly pushed himself up. His lute was crushed beneath him, in so many pieces that he didn’t even bother trying to pick it up. He felt like he’d betrayed it. Felt like he’d betrayed his friends too, but–

The racket in Dering’s mind was constant, a stream of incessant criticism. Dark sap covered much of his uniform. It stuck to his hair and plastered to half his face. He didn’t try to wipe it off.

Cynthus, with all her energy, was making her best effort to reunite Ephesus and Amarynthos.

Dering could make out Amarynthos’ figure, standing–slouching, almost. Clutching his staff and leaning over. Talking softly. He was holding his stomach.

Every movement Dering made was rigid and precise. He moved slowly, with purpose, and took short, light breaths.

“Are you okay?” he asked the group by the desk, almost a mumble.

No, of course they weren’t okay. He knew they weren’t okay. He kept his eyes downcast, except to glance at Lyon who was staring at the three of them like he wasn’t sure what to do now.

Lyon was still holding Reims’ sword, clutched tightly and as if he expected to have to use it again any second. Aside from being a bit shaken, and with an ankle that was now screaming, Lyon was–

Fine wasn’t the right word, but Dering was watching him like he needed permission for something, so Lyon nodded, looked over his shoulder at Rose, and then turned back to nod again. He didn’t know what he was agreeing too but Dering nodded once, winced, and then moved slowly to Ephesus’ side and carefully wrapped an arm behind his back. “Effie,” he said, slowly, calmly, despite the fact that he couldn’t manage more than a whisper. “Can you lean on me? We can go to Mary.”

Something sick twisted in Dering’s stomach, dreadful and heavy. He tried to see what was going on by Reims but the stalks were in the way–even with Stirling’s valiant effort to cut them down.

He spotted Halle–seven accounted for. He couldn’t see Reims and he couldn’t see Yvoire and he couldn’t see Lisse.

Maybe it was selfish, to want to be over there with them, but he couldn’t leave Ephesus. With an unspoken plea, he caught Cynthus’ eye. It wasn’t smart to nod his head in the direction he intended to go, but he did it anyway. His throat felt uncomfortably tight and he’d rather the pounding in his head than another opportunity to choke on his words.

He didn’t dare cough and he didn’t know how everyone else was managing. The fog burned his nose, his throat, his eyes. It was probably responsible for the shrill ringing in his ears, too.

Right now his mind felt soggy, muddled–like the damp floor underfoot. His mind was already sorting his thoughts, compartmentalizing out of habit. He didn’t think too hard about it. His body knew what to do, so he let it.

He couldn’t even think loudly enough to make an apology for it, but he knew it was important to get Ephesus to Amarynthos, and he hoped Cynthus would understand by the gesture that she was welcome to join them–welcome to help–but he wasn’t asking more of her than she could give.

She’d been hurt; he heard her slam against the wall. He didn’t know how she had so much energy, or if it was just the adrenaline keeping her on overdrive. He didn’t want her to slow down. He wanted her to burn every ounce of energy she had if it meant it kept her going until they were safe. Until they could get out of here.

Ephesus leaned into Dering, maybe out of a need for connection or because he understood that they were going to Amarynthos. Dering’s steps were slow and careful, but he put what strength he had stored into keeping them both upright.

Even when the ground shifted, when it pulsed, when it wriggled.

Dering saw Yvoire’s injury for only a second before Lisse layered his cape over him, and his eyes snapped to Reims instinctively, wide and questioning. His vision was swimming. It felt like he was looking at everything through a filter, from a camera positioned above his head and tilted at a very wrong angle.

“Oh–Effie,” Mary said, pushing himself up straight. “Close your eyes. Can you cover your mouth? The fog’s so bad over here. You’ll get sick, hold on.”

Amarythos didn’t have much energy to spare, but he found the strength to meet Ephesus as they approached. No part of his uniform was clean enough to offer as a mask, so he hoped to offer his shoulder instead. He met Ephesus on the opposite side of Dering but could offer neither hand for support. “Hey,” he said softly. “Are you okay? You can lean on me. But keep your eyes closed, Effie. Please.”

Dering was an intruder then, breaching into their private moment. He stayed only long enough to make sure that Ephesus and Amarynthos were able to stand before he slowly drifted to Reims, and Lisse, and Yvoire.

Wringing his hands weakly in front of him, Dering couldn’t quite find the words to ask if he could help, or if there was anything he could do.

The three of them were covered in blood. Reims had a cut on his neck, but Dering couldn’t tell where Yvoire’s blood ended and his began. Lisse had a large, bloody gash across his chest.

Dering had arrived folded in on himself, and now he seemed even smaller.

Amarynthos had probably been lying about the air being worse over here to spare him the horrible sight of Yvoire’s ghostlike complexion, but it still felt impossible to breathe over here.

Rose stayed where she’d fallen, wedged into the join between two walls like the corner would protect her instead of making her an easier target, tucked in with no escape.

She couldn’t breathe. Maybe it was the air, worse now than it had been when they’d arrived. Maybe it was fear. Each unsatisfying gulp of poisoned oxygen came quicker than the last. She saw nothing, just blurry shapes in the gloom. She heard nothing but muffled voices. Names. Questions. Groaning. Choking. Whimpering.

Rose flinched at the first sign of movement. Then the second. Then the third. She curled further back, wide, startled eyes darting between each figure, searching for danger and finding only bloody faces. Cynthus. Ephesus. Dering. Lyon.

Alive. Breathing.

Rose couldn’t breathe.

They were going to die. Some of them might already be dead. Rose heard Cynthus call for Mary but couldn’t make out the response. She saw a flash of color from Reims sword, but no other sign of Reims. Where were the twins? Where was Stirling?

Shuffling feet. More voices.

Lyon came closer. He held out his hand.

Out. They had to get out. Before the General returned.

“Sorry,” Rose wheezed. “... Sorry…”

She had frozen during the bloodbath. Her friends had fallen one by one, and she had done nothing. Lyon had taken up Reims’ sword, had helped to slow the General down, had done what he could even against terrible odds, and Rose had curled into the corner, too terrified to move. All her calm optimism and cool confidence had left her the second the first body had fallen.

Rose grasped Lyon’s hand but couldn’t get her legs beneath her.

She couldn’t breathe.

“I can’t—” Lyon still had Reims’ sword. “Reims. Where—”


Cynthus didn’t think about the pain.

Sure, she felt it. She knew her face was streaked with sludge. (She could still taste it. Yuck!) She knew she was bleeding. Her nose was being very unhelpful with the whole breathing thing. She was pretty sure her meeting with the wall had knocked out a couple of teeth. Maybe broken a few more. And she had an absolute b***h of a headache.

But she didn’t think about it.

She couldn’t afford to. Now wasn’t the time to panic. Now wasn’t the time to cry. Now wasn’t the time to think about her face. (Her face!)

They had s**t to do.

She sighed in relief when Ephesus came to. Then again when Amarynthos responded. Dering looked… Well, he looked pretty rough. So did his lute. But it was fine! They were fine! Everything was going to be fine! They were all going to get out of here and then she and Ephesus were going to fix this. If they needed help, they knew where to find it.

Dering let Ephesus lean on him while they shuffled over to Mary and Lyon went to check on Rose, which left Cynthus free to check on the others. Stirling was up and she still had energy. Good. Lisse and Halle looked like they were in rough shape, but they were both standing. Mary was—

s**t, Mary was bleeding a lot.

“Oh my God,” Cynthus said. “Mary, what the fu—”

Then she noticed Reims and Yvoire.

Specifically Yvoire.

“Oh my God,” she said again. She froze for just a second. If Cynthus wasn’t still so ******** angry, she might have fallen apart right then. “Oh my God.”

Damn it. s**t. ********. That was a lot of blood. And—No, Cynthus wasn’t going to think about that. Nope. She could not entertain those thoughts right now. This was not the time. This was not the place. No. No. She was not.

“Effie,” Cynthus said, as calmly as she could. “Use some of your magic on Mary. Just a little right now. Just… try to slow the bleeding. Don’t look! Keep your eyes closed. He’ll be fine, okay? He’s right there. Hold onto him. He’s not going anywhere. We’re gonna fix this. We need to leave, and then… I need you guys to tell me how you fixed Reims when he died.”

He could barely see through the tears. Barely think through the pain and throbbing in his head. For a heartbeat, it didn’t feel real. The room was a blur of static and dark haze and the stench of decay…

And then he saw Amarynthos, his Mary, leaning on his staff, hand pressed to his stomach, blood everywhere. The sound that escaped Ephesus was small and broken, something between a hiccup and a sob.

“Mary--” he choked, stumbling forward as he was half guided by Dering, half dragging himself. For one terrified moment, he just stared, trying to breathe, trying to think, because Mary’s face was too pale, his usual crisp, pastel bright outfit soaked through with a sickening amount of red.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. To any of them.

Ephesus was grateful to Dering for getting him that far, but with Mary there he gently pulled himself away from his friend’s arm so he could press his hand over Amarynthos’s. His hand was trembling. He didn’t know what part of his wounds were worse, only that there was so much.

“You’re bleeding too much,” he whispered, his voice shaking as tears fell unbridled. His chest hurt. His throat burned.

Cynthus’s voice cut through the fog, steady where he couldn’t be. Use some of your magic on Mary.

He swallowed hard, nodding, trying not to look directly at the wound. “Right. I-- okay. I can help.”

Ephesus took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. His hand still covered Mary’s, but with his scepter in his other hand, wrapped around Amarynthos’s back, a soft golden glow seemed to seep into Mary. The air was filled with the scent of honey. Sweet and safe.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice threatening to break apart. “It’s okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”

“Effie,” Amarynthos said, too gently to be argumentative, but insistent all the same. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got a plan. You can save your magic, until we get out of here and can see how everyone else is doing.”

“Please, let me do this,” Ephesus choked on another sob, startled and alarmed that Amarynthos would risk himself with so much blood loss already. He would help the others. He would. And it wasn’t that he didn’t trust Amarynthos’s plans, but Ephesus could at least put up a safety net, just in case.

Amarynthos held his breath for a minute. "Okay," he relented. "But not too much, Effie. Please, save some of your magic for the others. I'll be okay."

He could feel his magic working. Slowly closing the edges of the wound, calming the frantic pulse beneath his hand, easing Amarynthos’s breathing. But it wasn’t enough. He knew it wasn’t enough. He could feel the tremble in Mary’s hand under his own, could see how pale he was. And Ephesus needed to use his magic on the others, too.

“You’ll be okay,” he sniffled again, almost pleading, as though if he said it enough times, it would be true. “You’ll be okay, and then I’ll help Evie, and--”

He’d barely lifted his head from Amarynthos’s shoulder when Amarynthos’s clean hand came up to shield his eyes, gently guiding him back down.

Ephesus’s stomach twisted. Everything seemed frozen in time as he tried to process--

Why didn’t they want him to look?

For a moment, he thought about trying anyway, to see what they were trying to protect him from. How could they think about protecting him, when he was useless to help them?

He didn’t move from Amarynthos’s embrace. He only pressed his forehead back against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, and sobbed.



Reims barely heard his own name through the ringing in his ears. The air tasted like static, thick and metallic. He couldn’t tell if the moisture on his face was sweat or blood anymore.

Yvoire hadn’t moved. Not even a breath. The warmth under his hand was cooling too fast.

He pressed down out of instinct before Amarynthos's warning and Lisse’s movement caught his attention. The Knight’s cape slid over Yvoire’s torso, hiding what Reims shouldn’t have been touching in the first place. He froze, hand hovering, fingers still slick with blood.

Don’t press… don’t press on an open wound…?

The gears turned slower in his mind than he wanted, but as the cogs clicked into place, his heart started to race faster than before.

For a second, the world blurred around him. Not because of the haze, but because the thought of not being able to save Yvoire was too painful.

Breathing hurt too much. His ribs screamed when he shifted. His shoulder and neck felt like it had been set on fire. But the pain grounded him. It meant he was still there, still able to do something.

He felt eyes on him, and looked up to catch Dering’s gaze, unable to fully decipher the depth of horror in his eyes.

Ephesus was with Amarynthos. Good. He could help him. He didn’t have to look. He shouldn’t look. If they were going to use his magic once they were safe, they needed Ephesus to be able to focus. If Ephesus saw Yvoire like this, he’d fall apart, and they couldn’t afford that.

He turned his attention back to Yvoire, even as his heart pounded in his already painful chest. Even as his breath caught in his lungs with panic threatening to bubble over.

“You’re fine,” he whispered, because he had to say something. Because silence felt like giving up. “You’re fine, Evie. Just-- just hold on.”

No answer.

He wanted to shake him. To scream. To beg. But all that came out was a shattered, terrified breath.

Something in the center of the room shifted. Even as Stirling tried to remove the stalks, the plants kept pulsing, almost like a heartbeat. They weren’t just healing-- they were feeding.

Reims’s stomach turned. They couldn’t stay there.

“We have to go,” he said, careful to adjust his hold under Evie to keep him flat. Stable. Then, ignoring every protest from his ribs, forced himself upright.

Lisse’s wide eyed stare caught his attention next -- the quiet question hanging there.

When Reims died?

“That was last year,” he muttered, voice rough and impatient, and a little flustered in a way he didn’t mean. “Fine now. Focus on Evie.”

He swallowed hard, forcing the rest of the explanation out as if that would help Yvoire faster.

“Went to Sessrumnir, they had supplies. Equipment. Some kind of magically enhanced bone or something.” He hadn’t been conscious at the time it was used. Hadn’t been alive. But he’d asked about the details after.

That was something to worry about when they weren’t in danger of the room eating them. Or the General coming back with a vengeance.

As Amarynthos held Ephesus to him, he looked at Cynthus with something close to exasperation. The expression quickly fizzled because he wasn’t mad at her, and she was panicking, and her mouth was always a little faster than her brain. Most of the time, that wasn’t a bad thing. Now–

They were all just under a lot of pressure.

And, Amarynthos did feel a little better. Ephesus’ magic probably–definitely–wasn’t enough to rebuild whatever had happened inside of him, but he felt more clear-headed. So, thank you to Cynthus for that, even if he worried that someone else might have needed it more than he did.

“I’ve got supplies. Effie and I are loaded up. I’ve got another one of those bones,” Amarythos promised, but if Yvoire wasn't breathing–

One of the fluorescent bulbs crackled loudly before popping. The room grew darker. One of the other bulbs began to flicker eerily, and a mounting pressure blanketed the room.

The fog began to coil oddly, moving like a snake through tall grass. It churned throughout the room in a slow, sickening vortex, gradually picking up speed. Static carried in the current, sparking more frequently.

Something uncanny, something awful, felt like it was breathing down their necks, and then–

Nothing.

For a split second, blackness. Floating in a black sea of nothingness. Above them, in the far distance, stars peppered the sky. They winked mischievously, playfully, and faded gently into the darkness.

And then–finally–safety.

They arrived in the Celestial Theatre which was, thankfully, empty. The white marble, in stark contrast to the dark basement they’d just escaped, was nearly blinding in its brightness. The change in visibility might have been painful on the eyes, but no more so than the acidic fog they’d escaped. At least here the air was clear.

At least Chaos couldn’t follow them here.

Down the hall, the Code was silent, but the room hung heavy with a palpable sort of strain. It had no breath to hold, and yet, it did.

Though the Celestial Theatre was not meant to double as a triage unit, it was clean. Not clinically so, but leagues above the dingy, rotten basement. Amarynthos and Ephesus had been here just a week ago to do some light cleaning and bother the Code.

It wasn’t perfect, but anything was better than where they’d been.

The group arrived less than seconds apart. They did not come as a single unit, but in quick succession as one at a time or in small groups. Some arrived of their own accord, and those who did not have the means were carried by some cosmic force, as if tethered by the will of their peers.

The ground shifted beneath Amarynthos, who stumbled slightly but still landed on his feet. It was too bright. His eyes burned.

But, they were on the Moon–safe. Him, Ephesus. Cynthus, Reims, Yvoire. Lisse. Stirling. Halle. Dering. Lyon, Rose. Okay. All of them.

A little closer here than they had been in the basement but that was fine.

“Okay–we have to move fast. Who has a first aid kit? –Who has any medical training? Lisse, I know you have snacks, get me anything with sugar. I don’t know how badly you’ve all been hurt, you’re going to have to self-diagnose for right now. Can you give me a quick run down of what’s hurting? Just shout it out, don’t be shy. I don’t want anyone’s pride getting in the way–we can’t treat it if we don’t know what’s wrong.”

…And there were probably some things they couldn’t treat themselves, anyway.

Amarythos was unstable on his feet but he leaned against Ephesus. He lowered the hand from his eyes and began digging through his subspace.

A first aid kit fell out loudly, fully stocked with everything a field medic might need–thank you Sessrumnir–and he kicked it towards Halle, who seemed like the kind of guy you could trust to stay calm under pressure. Amarynthos guessed he’d know how to use it. The box skidded across the floor and landed between him and Cynthus, who was as welcome to it as everyone else. And–bold, and energetic enough that she could probably make good use of it, too.

Ephesus had a matching first aid kit so Amarynthos wasn’t worried about needing something and not having access to it.

More important to him right now were the cracked bone–and the pearlescent bead. Gifts from Devyn, who had expressed many times that Amarynthos was not allowed to die, and always came back from Alastor with some new, strange gift for him and Ephesus.

“Reims.” He didn’t want to ask, not like this, but there wasn’t any other way to say it. They couldn’t waste time. “I’ve got stuff to help. But I need to know, is he breathing?”