Edward found himself screaming and shouting in horror as the chaos around him unfolded. 

Everything had become a blur the moment the door burst open, unleashing a torrent of frosty air into the tavern. Suddenly all of the figures moved, and Edward jumped up as Pallas sprung alive. The bartender fell to the ground. As swift as the wind they came in, masked figures swept into the room and began to attack anyone and everyone. 

In the haze, one of the masked figures approached him, noticeably eyeing his hand cannon. He backpedaled slowly, holding it close to his breast. But his foot caught, and he fell to the ground. 

His eyes glued shut and he trembled in terror. But why was he so afraid? He had already died, and there was nothing to lose. So why was his chest pounding so violently?

Suddenly, he felt a powerful grip jerk him backwards, dragging him along the grimy floor behind one of the tables. He opened his eyes to see Pallas’ face hovering close to his. Her eyes wrestled with panic, but her voice carried across the chaotic tavern with a sober resignation.

[color=f26522]"Well, I might never see you again as I will probably die, but I'm glad I made a friend on my journey. Best wishes and try not to waste my efforts and live, okay?"[/color]

With those words, Pallas smiled weakly. Her face came closer, graceful neck craning until her soft lips grazed his cheek with a short, clumsy kiss. Then she disappeared back into the fray, leaving Edward alone behind the table.

Edward sat there, frozen in fear. Slowly, he brought his hand up to his face, to the point where Pallas had kissed him. He could still feel the warmth of her breath, the girlish brush of her hair as she pulled herself back a bit too quickly. The contour of her collarbone, the little hairs that sprung up at the nape of her neck. The stillness in her eyes as she turned away from him. 

He knew in his heart then that he was still alive. This was no afterlife. A surge of vitality began to well within his chest. He wanted to protect Pallas. Even if it cost his life. 

But he could not move. 

He looked down to see that his hands were trembling violently, caught in conflict between adrenaline and terror. His entire body shook in the same way. He could feel the burn and the chill coursing within his bones, and his legs shot with thunder in paralysis. His will bent and wretched a million times over to try and spark life into his body. He felt nauseous from the strain. But still, he could not move. 

So Edward gave up. All of the energy coursing through his body collapsed in brutal catharsis as they turned into tears and heartbreak. Edward wept bitterly. Pallas would die, and he could do nothing to stop it.