Work Text:
With every step Mjoll took into Mzinchaleft, she heard it. The grind of gears, the clank of metal, the hiss of steam. They roared in her ears, reverberating through her very bones.
The Centurion towered above, its cold, metal face looking down as it knocked her to the floor with one robust swing of its arm. Grimsever slipped from her grasp as her vision faded.
Mjoll jolted upward, heart beating violently against her chest. She gasped for breath.
Gasha’s hand gripped hers. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Mjoll’s hand squeezed Gasha’s, comforted by the solidity. She breathed.
“You’re safe. I promise.”