A/N: Originally written for the drabble prompt "Terror" on LJ. Another almost Mist/Rhys shippy piece, like my story Overlooked Emotions. They would be cute together, platonic or no.

Words: 674
Characters: Mist, Ike, Rhys
Time: Chapter 9 in Path of Radiance - Mist's first battle
Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Nintendo, not me.

It was daylight, but to her eyes, everything seemed dark.

It was noisy, but to her ears, everything seemed silent.

It was soulless, it was slaughter; but to her sympathy, every blow seemed personal, the erratic rhythm of clattering weapons a mockery of her unsteadily pounding heart.

The world suddenly swayed beneath her little feet. The staff in her little hands grew much too heavy. Blood danced in front of her blurred vision, vibrant against the cloudless blue sky. A familiar figure stumbled in front of her, his free hand clutching his sword arm, red seeping through his fingertips and tracing ghostly veins down his arm.

"Mist," he said breathlessly, meeting her eyes. "Quick – I've got to get back to the fight – it's just a cut, shouldn't take long - "

He moved his hand to show her the injury, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from his face. His eyes, those eyes so like her own, glittered with the power of playing as a god. They glittered with the power of bringing death. It shocked her to look into her beloved brother's gaze and see into his soul and see nothing but the heat of the moment, this moment, this terrifying moment.

"Mist! Mist, come on!"

A hand touched her arm; a body brushed smoothly past her. Rhys stepped to Ike's side and raised his staff. She'd thought staves always sparkled when they healed, but here, the daylight suffocated the glow. She realized that she'd always practiced her healing at nighttime, when Ike wouldn't see.

"Thanks, Rhys," Ike said, flexing experimentally. He shot a glance back at Mist, a kinder glance, a promise of later compassion, but then he turned away again, his back to her as he battled on the front lines. Protecting her. His power was, in the end, for her.

She couldn't stop the trembling until Rhys pulled her into the relative safety of the nearby bushes, a few stray branches clawing at her arms. Rhys gripped her shoulders and met her wide eyes. "Are you all right, Mist?" he asked softly.

She stared up into his gaze as she had stared up into Ike's. She stared into Rhys's soul, now, and only then did her trembling stop, her racing heart still. He soothed her with gentle words, gentle eyes, and she shivered and sighed, the world coming back into focus around her. She heard every screech of steel, every gasp of pain, every strained shout; she saw each blade of grass on the ground, crushed into splintered fragrance by soldiers' shoes; she felt the pleasant breeze tickle her exposed and skin and bring the stench of sweat and blood and fear into her nose. But her heart no longer had the strength to run away from it all.

"Does it ever go away?" she whispered. "Does it ever go away?"

Gently Rhys touched her fingers, which were curled into fists at her sides, one hand clutching smooth wood so hard that her knuckles were paler even than her face. She felt calluses on his palm, though he was no soldier. She noticed a small scar on the inside of his wrist. With careful diligence, he eased her nervous grip. A shadow passed across his face, and he looked away from her.

"No," he said simply. "It never goes away, Mist. But… you learn… you learn to live through it. With it. You become a part of it."

He dropped his hand, turned away from her, then glanced over his shoulder. "Stay with me, Mist," he said, and stepped out of the bushes, the shining sun reflecting blindingly off his white robes.

Silently she followed him. She bit her lip and steeled her heart to the furious fighting until she no longer winced at every sword's scream. She narrowed her eyes until she no longer feared every drop of blood sparking in the noonday sun.

It was the daylight, somehow, that made everything all the more terrifying.