Chapter Text
The sun does not set so easily. Nor naturally. Hawthorn wakes up, gasping for air, hands outstretch, sunlight bright on his face. But it feels fake. It does not truly reach him like the true sun.
The fields do not smell real.
And he sees it, people, people fighting and losing against a group of monsters [Sargons? no he can't see intelligence in those eyes] and he grabs his sword and swiftly comes to their aid.
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People look at him strangely, but they are kind. if hiding something. Severin does not find himself to care, after all its not his problem. Right now the only thing for him is to find a proper place. He rests at the inn, the day continues. It goes like this.
he wakes.
He sleeps.
He wakes.
He hunts when breathing doesn't hurt. the struggle to breath, it becomes worse everyday. There is nothing he can do, these people and their medicine dont' do anything to him. No matter how many times a potion is used. It hurts.
There is some pity in their gazes, but most of them seem apathetic to death now. Their used to be more people here, its limited, they can't call for help. Their only goal is go up. He knows that.
Its a struggle he is familiar with.
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In the end there is something he can do before he dies for good.
Both he and commander Heathcliff lock blades, both his hands covered in dark dark blood, red crystals flowing out of his mouth. He is dying, but his will to [/help] people is stronger than ever. He, who has spent months , almost like a brotherhood to these people. They are all so young, full of life.
He can't let them end this way.
The strongest swordsman is locked under invisible binds he cannot see, cannot help because he is not special. So he /borrows his swords , duel wielding, and pushes every inhuman strength into striking down this man with unknown emotions in his eyes.
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/severin.exe has been repaired.
/progress files?
yes/no