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He knows Y’shtola can sense it. She told him as much just days after they returned from Ultima Thule. A dimming of his spirit, not much, but there. And while he couldn’t see it himself, he felt it. Felt it in the bone-weary tiredness that overtook him at random moments. Where he once could go days without feeling the burn of exhaustion now only felt like hours.
He knew, logically, that it would take time. Time to recover from burning himself out so intensely. Time he wasn’t sure he had as he marched headstrong into the next endeavor. Fortunately, like all the times before. He wasn’t alone. He would never be alone. With everything he’s done, everything they had done, he figured slowing down a little was OK. The world was no longer ending. He was allowed to rest.
He had never set out to be a hero. Never wanted to have the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. But he took to it like a fish to water. And no matter how hard it got, he wouldn’t change a thing. But sometimes…
Sometimes…
That bone deep weariness just didn’t feel worth it. Oh, surely the feeling would pass, and he would be on his next adventure. But the bad days lately outnumbered the good.
“You need to take it easy,” they would say. “You’re still healing.”
He’d heard it all before. He knew he was still healing. But it had never taken quite so long. Then again when one burns through the candle of their life again, and again, and again…
Maybe he should give himself more credit. He imagines what his friends would say if they could read his thoughts. He’d be the first to remind the others to allow themselves time to heal. He should remember to extend that same courtesy to himself.
But it was hard, hard to allow himself those moments of weakness. Harder still to allow the others to see him at his lowest moments. So used to being a pillar of strength. Of being the one they all looked to, to push ever onward.
But lately he’s been just so, so tired.
And he hates it.