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Something was off. That was the only way to describe the feeling churning inside his gut.
Like something horrible had just happened, but he couldn’t tell what it was.
He could still hear the gunshots, the screams. The air was still mixed with the scent of blood.
Still?
It should be still, he thought, but it didn’t make any sense. They had arrived on a small town an hour prior, leaving the Piece of Spadille under the care of Mihal, so there was no reason for him to feel so strange. Like he wasn’t supposed to be there.
Red. What he saw was red. Countless soldiers under the medical care of his companions and him as they fought to get someone dear back. He wanted to go there. He needed to fight. But he was never that strong. He’d die if he tried.
Not that that was any better than him dying.
Him?
Ace.
Ace was on top of the scaffolding, seastone cuffs on his back and his eyes covered by his hair as he avoided everyone’s gaze. Two marines with swords stood next to him, holding their weapons in front of him in the shape of an x, imitating Roger’s infamous last moments.
He was going to die and he couldn’t do anything about it.
But… that wasn’t the case. Ace was right there in front of him, holding his shoulders with a worried look on his face. He was fine and well, no sign of any marine soldiers nearby. No cries of pain. No bloodshed.
Ace sat him down and told him to breathe. He did without protest.
His thoughts were no longer spiralling, but everything was still so confusing.
“Wanna talk about it?” The person who should be a corpse asked.
He strained his smile “Maybe later”