The stranger’s apology stung, although no part of the knight’s bitterness showed in his expression, impeccably neutral and still obscured by the visor. Feeling regretful upon finding Tenth amidst the ruins could only mean he was hoping to find someone else instead, and if another knight’s strengths and talents were more suited to his needs, then so be it. There was only so much Tenth could offer, only so much trust he could earn after failing once already – he couldn’t possibly fault the stranger for something as natural as that.

He was about to open his mouth to protest, but then the stranger requested to help him, and something inside him… twitched. Like a nerve struck, a string plucked to produce a trill, his vision turned dull and clouded, sounds drowned in indiscernible noise, his body tensed, and before he could realize what he was doing, his mouth was already forming familiar words.

“As you wish.”

Then, just as suddenly, everything was back – the vibrant head-splitting colors, the ear-piercing sounds, the burning in his throat and lungs, the ache in his ribs he was sure he hadn’t noticed before… Gods, he wished all of it gone, at least for a short time, at least for a night – half a night, a third, a quarter of peaceful slumber – but wishes were for those he served, and whatever mess of dignity and tissue filled the suit of armor, it did not, in his mind, constitute a person.

He agreed to fulfill the request on instinct alone, but wished he was sure how to go about it, too. The stranger didn’t frighten him, but the thought of the mere possibility of failing again turned his blood cold.

Perhaps an explanation would suffice. If he took a deep breath and clutched the sword handle as tight as he could, leaning on the blade with as much weight as it could support without showing signs of strain, he was certain he could manage at least that much.

“I have no task for which to require aid or assistance,” he said, and if it was clear in the way he spoke that the words completely drained him of whatever energy was left in him after more than a day without food or water, he hoped the stranger would not acknowledge it. “I am not under any orders that my injuries would… prevent me from executing. I don’t… know how you could… I–I…”

He trailed off, trying to take a deep breath and feeling like it wasn’t reaching his lungs at all. Between such simple acts as standing up, bowing in greeting, and speaking at length, neither should have exhausted him so much, but a combination in quick succession must have taken its toll.

The air was still heavy with traces of smoke and dust. His left hand slid out of the gauntlet, the sword falling loudly, clattering down the stone steps, and reached behind his helmet, where a strap of leather was holding down the visor. He unbuckled it in one quick motion, though, had it not been so well-practiced, he feared the numbness in his fingers would have failed him. His other hand was already tugging at the chin of the armor piece, prying the visor open with a loud metallic pop.

He had a gentle face, though sweat and grime coated it in equal measure, and many of his features were still partially obscured by the helmet and the strands of short brown hair that clung to his forehead. His eyes were shut against the momentary lightheadedness that threatened to overwhelm him. Even so, between the creases of his thick eyebrows and behind the frown that pulled the corners of his mouth down, there were hints of smiles that never blossomed and kindness that hadn’t yet found a way to express itself.

The wind cooled the light red burn that began above his right cheek and ended where it met his stubble. The relief was immediate, clearing his head enough to speak again.

“F-forgive me,” he breathed out, feeling color drain from his face, “I’m… finding it hard to… think at the moment…”