Chapter 42: Endwalker
He knelt before her in that endless empty and couldn't help the relief that eased the ache of combat lingering in his muscles. She didn't look at him but that was ok. She was still there and that was all that mattered.
"No matter where we flew, there was only darkness and loneliness and pain," Meteion explained, her voice timid as it barely carried to him.
He remembered how Meteion had reacted when the Meteia had tried to give their final report. "I know," he offered gently.
She shook her head. "We couldn't find the answers Hermes yearned for. The answers he deserved."
His heart ached for her. "I know," he repeated, the words barely louder than a whisper.
Silence settled between them and he let it be. It wasn't like he had the right words to offer her anyway. Fortunately, he didn't have to wait long for her to raise her head and meet his gaze. "Greetings, you who are my final encounter. I wish to hear your words…share your feelings…know your thoughts." She lifted a hand, half reaching for him. "May we please…be friends?"
"Oh Meteion," he said as he took her hand. He shifted forward, cautiously wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin. "We were already friends. This doesn't change that."
She gasped, tensing only to curl into him. Her hand slipped from his, both hands grabbing at the front of his shirt instead. He wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her close, finally giving her the hug he had wanted to give her back on Elpis. Tears unbidding filled his eyes but they did not fall, not even when he squeezed his eyes shut as he pressed his face to her hair.
"Yes, I can see them…the memories of a long, long journey."
An endless journey, he wanted to say, as his thoughts tumbled over everything that had happened since he had set foot on the docks of Limsa Lominsa, of the people he had met and cared for.
Had wept for.
"So many people. The thoughts of them overflowing in your heart. What they live for, what gives their lives meaning…there was never a single answer." She pulled back, seeking his gaze as her words seemed to fill with awe. Her eyes, in turn, were filled with tears, her face wet with them. "You gather pieces of happiness, precious and fragile, only to lose them. Then start again. On and on it goes, until death takes you into its gentle embrace." He withdrew an arm and gently rubbed his thumb against her cheek, chasing away the tears that lingered there. "That which Hermes sent us to find was there all this time. On Etheirys."
He offered her a fond smile. "It wasn't always there. We had to create it, together; it's not something that a single soul can do on their own." He rubbed at her other cheek, his smile failing. "Something no single soul should do on their own. Life is to be shared with those we care about," his thoughts went to his friends, to those waiting for him on the ship and those waiting back on Etheirys, "both the good and the bad. Otherwise we struggle to find purpose and reason in life. We lose perspective being so caught up in our own little worlds, making it extremely easy to lose ourselves in the bad and missing all the good that's around us." He focused on her gaze, meeting it again as he ran his hand through her hair. "Much as you and the other Meteia lost yourselves to the sorrows of the worlds you came across and to your own despair upon being unable to answer Hermes's question as you wanted to. Had you not been alone in that, I think you would have been able to find this selfsame answer so much sooner."
She couldn't hold his gaze and chose to press her face back into his chest. He wrapped his arms securely around her once more, hoping that she could feel the care and compassion he felt for her. Gods knew he understood some of what she had to have experienced; certainly nothing comparable but enough.
It was a long moment before she broke the silence again. "Thank you for guiding me here. To find these words at journey's end fills me with joy." He felt her shift in his embrace, tensing as if tightening a hug, but her hands were still fisted in the front of his shirt. As she relaxed, she pulled back and he let his arms fall slack around her. "And so, before I fall forever silent," she got to her feet, careful not to step on him as she did so, "there is one thing I must do."
"You mean to return," drifted towards him and Echo'a let his gaze fall onto Zenos without moving more than his head, "to the world where you are hailed as a hero."
Meteion was long gone on her way to making the path back to the ship and despite every fiber of his being yearning to follow after her, it seemed he had one last thing to take care of before he followed. For once he hoped this would actually be a productive conversation with the fight-crazed ex-royal but it was a fleeting hope at best.
Twelve he was tired.
Echo'a raised an eyebrow, the apprehension that had accompanied Zenos's initial arrival filling his chest once more. He ignored it. "It's home, regardless of what others call me. One I plan to return to as soon as possible. You coming or not?"
Something amused flickered across Zenos's already half amused expression. "I would rather you hear me. Not as a hero, but as simply…you." Echo'a adjusted his stance, not quite facing the other but no longer killing his neck to meet Zenos's gaze. "As I learned in Ala Mhigo, you are a formidable foe. Stronger than any I have faced. Against you, I need bring my all to bear." Zenos raised his arms as if to embrace either Echo'a or the empty expanse around them, a grin drawing Zenos's lips away from his teeth. "I need burn through the candle of my life. This is the sole pleasure I know, and it is the sole pleasure I have to share." Those open arms returned to Zenos's side, the glee that had pulled at Zenos's expression dissipating. "And so I come before you. To issue challenge and offer singular bliss. If you wish to walk away, I will not stop you. You value life. You do not burn yours save for reasons you deem worthy." Zenos gestured to the expanse around them. "Reasons such as those which brought you here. The salvation of a world and its people. The motives of a hero true. But there is more to you than that. You know this to be true. As surely as you know the thrill of pushing your body and soul to their limits. Of confronting ever-mightier foes, dancing ever closer to the precipice, wondering if this will be the one to finally, finally...fill the void. Such pleasures, you seek for their own sake, and no other reason. Is this not so...adventurer?"
Echo'a was actually quite done with all of the fighting and having to push himself to the limits just to survive, though it was unlikely Zenos would understand even if he did voice his opinion on the matter. He could not deny the 'thrill of the fight' as so many were prone to calling it, the rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins to keep him alive, but had he to live without it from that point on he would do so without a second thought. He gained no pleasure in that rush and had grown to detest it as time wore on. He had no such void to fill. "I am unsurprised that you and so many others have such an impression of me," he spoke, the words coming out in a bored drawl. A heavy sigh escaped him. "However, if I refuse to fight you, you won't stop. You've spoken it yourself: you are driven by this need, driven to find that thrill that comes only in combat until there is nothing left of you and up until this point, I have been the only one to hold my own against that hunger, which means I either have put you down or die trying."
A smile pulled across Zenos's face. He pointed his scythe at Echo'a. "In acceptance you betray your deception." Frustration bubbled up in his chest because of course Zenos would twist his words as such. "You know full well what we are, and what we seek. Let us indulge in the only worthwhile pursuit and burn our lives to their ends to shine incandescent in death's shadow!"
Frustration quickly flared into rage. He was sick and tired of fate forcing him to fight, of not getting the chance to rest and just be. With a silent snarl, he pulled his book into his hand. Fine. If Zenos wanted him to fight, then Echo'a was going to use it to let loose all the rage he had been denying himself.
If Zenos wanted to die in battle, who was Echo'a to deny him?
Unfortunately for him, Zenos was still a very powerful foe and Echo'a found himself struggling to keep pace. Zenos's scythe caught him in the left hip, barely an ilm above the joint, and it sent him flying as he lost seconds due to the pain. He came to disorientated and in agony, Zenos egging him on to get back up, to keep fighting.
The dynamis reacted with Zenos, fed off of him and seemed quite eager to bolster Echo'a in turn. He should not have survived the injury he had sustained but it was gone long before he was back on his feet, flinging spells at the Reaper again.
The second blow he should not have survived caught him in the side of the head, blinding him until the dynamis took that injury away too.
The third caught him in the back as he tried - and failed again - to avoid the very attack that kept laying him out.
Absolutely frustrated but not deterred, Echo'a strove to stay out of range of Zenos's scythe to the best of his ability. And it worked, for the most part. Though they were both well and spent, it was Zenos who hit the ground and was unable to rise from it first.
"That I should lose again," Zenos muttered from where he lay splayed on his back. "How disappointing."
Echo'a was tempted to kick him for the blasted comment. What right did he have to be disappointed in his own defeat? He was the one that had issued the challenge; he should take the loss with as much grace and joy he would have had he won.
Vertigo rushed through him as the world suddenly spun out of sight, leaving him with nothing but stars to look at. Everything hurt so much that he wasn't sure if he was splayed flat on the floor now as well or if he was simply drifting off into space.
He belatedly realized Zenos was talking again but whatever the man was saying was barely more than noise in his ears. A part of him wanted to focus and hear the man's last words but indignation burned through him. Echo'a had wanted to simply return to his friends and go home but, no. One fight-crazed ex-royal had to have the audacity to call him his equal and the only one that could match him in combat, and while the latter certainly wasn't untrue, it didn't give Zenos the right to burn Echo'a's life along with his own.
His eyes, barely open as he struggled against an exhaustion he feared, filled with tears that quickly overflowed down both sides of his face. He had not lied to Meteion. After everything - after everything - it didn't matter how tired he was. He wanted to live. He wanted to live so that he could go home with the others, to help the nations recover from the disasters the Final Days had wrought, and to finally get the chance to rest as he watched the others do amazing things; and that was not even to mention the list of things Emet-Selch had told him to go see. G'raha would certainly be more than happy to join him on some of that - the Twelve only knew the kinds of adventures such places held in store for them - and for those that G'raha could not, he hoped he could drag Thancred or Estinien or any of the others along with him as he kept his promise to the Ancient.
All he wanted was to return to his friends.
All he wanted to do was go home.
Sound started to drift through the darkness as scattered and broken noises, barely anything more than a faint brush against his awareness between irregular stretches of silence. Something about the sounds seemed to stir some form of recognition in him but it was too faint and too fleeting for him to latch onto.
A set of sounds brushed over him and G'raha came to mind, accompanied by a dull worry. But the worry seemed oddly misplaced; at minimum, he couldn't seem to dredge up why he ought to be worried and that alone should have drawn concern but it didn't.
Another set of sounds and he lost his train of thought entirely.
He was so tired.
"You can't leave us," suddenly cut through the darkness in Alisaie's voice, sharp and clear and coherent words rather than a string of sounds like everything else he had been hearing. "Not like this…" That's right. He was supposed to get back to them. "If you do, I'll never forgive you." Not that he'd blame her; he deserved her ire after the stunt he pulled. "So, come on! Open your eyes and get up!"
A part of him wanted desperately to just return to the darkness where he could rest and not be needed by anyone and, for a moment, he humored the idea; but he knew better- knew himself better. There was no way he was going to simply go back to sleep after hearing her plea. He couldn't do that to her.
Dragging himself out of that darkness was unfathomably difficult. It clung to him, incessant even as the sounds of the ship started to fill his ears. He could make out Alisaie's soft weeping among the beeps of the equipment and the humming of the engine, tugging at his heart in both regret and sympathy.
With waking came the memories and a bone deep ache.
His entire body felt like it had been thrown through the mill but at least it was an ache instead of full on pain. That was probably more due to the aether pouring into him rather than a testament to his current condition and he knew moving would prove if that ache was only a guise. It always did.
Finally, after what felt like far too long of a struggle, he managed to get his eyes open.
"Are you…"
Alphinaud.
He turned his head and tried to get his vision to clear but it was being as stubborn as the exhaustion still clinging to him. "Are you with us?" Alphinaud finished asking as his sight cleared enough for him to make out Alphinaud's face. It was fuzzy at the edges but at least he could see it. He managed a small nod. Alphinaud sagged in relief, his voice thick with tears as he uttered, "Thank the heavens. For a moment we thought…"
He could guess at a few of those thoughts.
It took far too much strength to raise his hand and he felt bad when he all but dropped it on Alphinaud's head. His vision darkened around the edges, threatening to take him back under, but he refused to let it win. "Did everyone make it?" he asked, the words weak and slurred, scraping at his throat. The breaths filling his chest felt lacking. "Everyone alright?"
"After what you've done," G'raha said, crashing to his knees at Alphinaud's side, "you're the last person…" Echo'a frowned. G'raha's words were thick with tears but his eyes wouldn't focus enough for him to see the other's expression. "…to be asking that."
That last line was definitely said around a sob. He forced his hand to move from Alphinaud's head but lacked the strength to keep it elevated. It thudded loudly against whatever he was lying on and unintentionally startled Alphinaud and G'raha. When Alisaie took hold of his right hand and held tight, he was fairly certain he had scared her as well. He gritted his teeth and finished reaching for the other miqo'te. G'raha quickly took up his hand between both of his own. "I'm alive," he tried to assure, but he lacked the breath to make it sound convincing even with breathing as heavily as he was.
"Yes, you're alive," G'raha agreed. He brought Echo'a's hand closer to his face and without being able to see the other clearly enough, it almost looked like G'raha was praying over it. Something tapped against his thumb. "You're alive…" He realized it was tears when there were a few more tapped against it. "You-" got choked and he caught the minute curl forward as G'raha tried again. "How can you keep your promise if you're not here?"
His eyes slid close in remorse and he struggled to get them back open. "Sorry," he offered as earnestly as he could manage.
Twelve be kind, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep and yet he knew he couldn't. He had to stay awake for them.
A part of him still feared not waking back up.
A form loomed over Alphinaud and G'raha as G'raha returned his hand to his side but didn't let go and it wasn't until that form spoke that he realized it was Estinien. "You did well, my friend," rolled in that familiar low timber, heavy with reassurance.
"Yes. Well indeed," Y'shtola scoffed to his left, her tone strained into an imitation of normalcy. "What were you thinking, fighting alone? Never do that again." He had wanted to turn his head to look at her properly but barely managed to return it to neutral before his vision darkened. Her blurry expression was tight even with the soft, fond smile that graced her lips. He realized she had a hand on his shoulder only when he caught sight of her resting her other against her heart. "My poor heart couldn't bear it."
Thancred took a step closer, drawing his gaze; Thancred's face was a blur. "Put yourself in our place. If you hadn't returned, how do you think we would feel?" He could guess but he was too tired to try and drag anything forward to articulate. "And if that sounds harsh," oddly, Thancred's voice softened, "it's because we care."
Or maybe it wasn't odd. After going up against Zenos, he probably looked as bad as he felt. It didn't help that he couldn't see Thancred's face so he had nothing to gauge the tone of his voice with.
Urianger's hand brushed his hair from his forehead, drawing his waning attention. "We tended to thy wounds as best we could, but how is the pain?"
"An ache," he said, his eyes sliding closed for a moment. "Mostly just tired."
Alisaie's hands tightened around his as Alphinaud spoke up. "Certainly we can let him rest until we have returned."
"Ah, my timing could not be better!" Livingway cut in from somewhere beyond Echo'a's feet. "I have news on your earlier request: I'm quite certain we're in range to make contact now."
"Ah, excellent," Thancred responded, the jovial tone sounding off. "I'll announce our return at once."
Echo'a got his eyes back open but he tracked Thancred's movement by the sound of the few steps Thancred took to step aside. Alphinaud leaned closer, drawing his gaze. "While you were unconscious, we set out from Ultima Thule in the hopes that…well."
G'raha gave his hand a squeeze. "Do you want to try sitting up? It might not be the greatest view of home but it's still a sight to see, no doubt."
He didn't want to move. "Sure," he said anyway.
G'raha looked towards Thancred's approaching steps. "Thancred, mind taking his other side?"
Both of his hands were released as bodies shuffled at either side. He allowed himself one last moment of respite before he met G'raha's gaze and nodded. Whatever effort he gave to sit himself up was completely useless but blessedly painless beyond the aching. G'raha and Thancred didn't say a word as they took his weight for him and got him upright.
Something shifted in the left side of his pelvis as he took his own weight back and he instinctively jerked forward, shoving his weight onto his right hand as he forced his breathing deep to fight the sudden lightheadedness that stole his vision.
"Shit," Thancred hissed as someone's arm pressed across the front of his shoulders, taking his weight. It was G'raha who said, "Lay him back; careful now," as the world seemed to move without him. Several other hands pressed against him, touched him, before slipping away as the world settled with him on his back again. His vision was patchy but he could make out smudges of color where the faces leaning over him should have been. The others were talking, he was sure, but it all blended together into incoherent noise that drowned out the sounds of the ship. Someone shifted his legs and the first bout of actual pain shot up his spine. A cry rent itself from his chest as his entire body seized, inevitably making the pain worse. Aether washed over him but the pain seemed to refuse to ebb.
Someone was carding their hand through his hair. He tried to turn into the touch, seeking the comfort under the torrent of pain that had replaced the dull ache, but even that small movement shot a spike of pain along his spine. "We're nearly there," G'raha gently soothed, the hand carding through his hair never ceasing. Some part of him not battling with pain and exhaustion in equal measures wondered if it was G'raha's hand in his hair. "Just a little longer and you'll be in the hands of the best chirurgeons Sharlayan has."
It was infuriating how such a simple sentence seemed to be the last of what he could tolerate. Shame burned hot across his face and he struggled to not start crying from it. On top of the pain and exhaustion, that was not a battle he could win as tears were already dampening his closed eyelids. He scrunched his face in distaste and as a futile attempt to stop the tears. His breathing picked up as he could only imagine being carried out of the ship with everyone watching; the impression that would leave, the mess it would make. The aether never stopped but new hands settled on him, one on his head, the other on his right arm. He struggled to get anything to articulate and poorly managed a choked, "Everyone waiting."
"Don't worry about them," Thancred said, the new hand - Thancred's hand - on his head running over his right ear before settling again. He got his eyes open but everything was just a massive blur of colors. He tried focusing on Thancred's face anyway. "I spoke with Fourchenault directly and he is already preparing your transfer to be as private of an affair as they can manage."
Someone squeezed his right hand; Alisaie, he assumed, as she added with a twist of conviction and worry, "Which means that no one who isn't supposed to see you won't. So don't you go worrying about other people and just focus on getting better."
He gave her hand a squeeze as he closed his eyes again, offering a meek, "'kay."
There was a brief pause before G'raha spoke again. "Everything is going to be ok. You can rest now." The other's voice was softer but no less hard to hear. He didn't understand why until G'raha rested his forehead against Echo'a's. "Let go," was a caress of words barely filling the space between them. "We have you."
He turned his head more towards G'raha, barely disturbing the contact as he finally lost the battle against the emotions. It all seemed to just be too much: the exhaustion, the pain, everything on Ultima Thule. Or maybe he was just unable to ignore it all anymore; the burn of shame that came with knowing his friends were watching him shatter certainly didn't help.
He lost time, though he wasn't certain if that was because he had finally succumbed to the exhaustion or if he had been that lost in the torrent of emotions. They must have landed, though, because there were far too many people suddenly walking about the space.
"How is the Warrior of Light?" some stranger asked as the aether pouring over him fluctuated. Foreign aether mixed with Alphinaud's and it took far too much effort to not squirm under it as one of his companions answered the question. He got his eyes open as if that would help but all it did was confirm some stranger was at his side. In fact, there were quite a number of strangers now standing around him, watching him. Something resembling panic filled his chest. He dug his fingers into the fabric under him as he tried to shove the panic away causing his breathing to stutter and stagnate.
Thancred appeared above his head, blurry about the edges but clear enough for him to see the other's calm expression. "You're ok," Thancred soothed, his voice a lower timber than normal as the man's hands settled against either side of Echo'a's head, helping him hold Thancred's gaze. "Just breathe." He sucked in a breath to comply but it shook horribly on the way out, threatening to make him start crying again. "None of them are thinking anything of this. They're all too focused on taking care of you."
Alphinaud's aether stopped. His breathing immediately picked up as the panic was buoyed by the sudden loss of the anchor he hadn't realized Alphinaud's aether had been. He clamped his eyes shut, desperate to focus on anything but the strangers now encircling him and felt tears stream down his face for his efforts. Thancred tried to reassure him, to get him to recenter, but the man's words were lost to the voices of the strangers talking about him.
"-all too much for him," Thancred's demanding voice, distant in a way that he didn't like, suddenly cut through the noise, "and we're barely managing to keep it from getting worse." It almost sounded like Thancred had stepped away but someone was still touching his head, carding their fingers through his hair. "Either put him under now before they do much more or you get them to leave until he's calmed back down."
He forced his eyes back open, confused.
G'raha was at his head now, expression relaxing when the other realized Echo'a was looking at him, a soft smile gracing what had been a strained expression. Alphinaud and Alisaie were sitting so close they were practically plastered to G'raha's left side. Y'shtola was sitting to G'raha's right at a much more reasonable 'close'. Only G'raha was watching him. "We're still here, Echo'a," G'raha gently assured him, drawing Alisaie's attention from whatever the others were watching. She reached out and rested her hand on the front of his shoulder. He wasn't sure if it was intentional - it probably was, knowing her - but Alisaie's aether started to slowly soak into his shoulder, reminiscent of their time back on the First. He closed his eyes against the reminder despite the comfort the aether brought. "It's ok," G'raha continued. The chatter over him seemed to ebb though the aether washing over him never changed. "You're ok."
Fourchenault's voice came from his right, calm and distinct, as if the man had knelt at his side. "They are insistent that we do not waste time in transferring him from the ship. I am of the same mind that moving him in this state would only make things worse so I have bought you what time I can, but he does need to be moved soon."
Alphinaud responded with an earnest, "Thank you, Father."
A hand touched his right shoulder. He managed to get his eyes open enough to focus as best he could on a slightly blurry view of Fourchenault's face. He really had knelt at Echo'a's side. "I will do what I can to make sure one of your companions remains with you for as long as possible but trust when I say that you are in good hands with these folk. They will do all in their power to mend the damage you have sustained."
His jaw flexed as he struggled with what to say to that because of course he trusted them. Unfortunately, that wasn't the problem. He gave a curt nod before he managed a strained, "Just a bit too much too fast." He had tried for nonchalant; it sounded more ashamed to his ears.
Fourchenault nodded sagely as if he understood before looking to those seated above his head. "Sort among yourself who is going with him. Once you have decided, they will begin relocating him to Psysis Technon."
Echo'a closed his eyes, not wanting to see the chirurgeons returning now that he was finally coming down from the panic.
G'raha's hand stilled in his hair. "Echo'a, do you have a preference on who stays with you?"
He shook his head, suffering the skittering of pain it caused knowing it wouldn't be answer enough. Words, though, were a whole different issue. He knew what he wanted to say, had the impression and concept but lacked the words to properly articulate any of it. "You or Thancred," was the best he managed, expecting some reaction from the others.
To his surprise - and equal measures of relief and worry - the only reaction he got was a soft, "Alisaie, do you mind taking my place?" from G'raha before hands left his head and shoulder as bodies shuffled above his head.
Alisaie was quick to emulate G'raha's touch, carefully running her fingers through his hair before it quickly devolved into her rubbing first one ear and then the other - sometimes both - as she normally would. Alphinaud's hand settled where his sister's had been, thumb idly rubbing back and forth as aether seeped from Alphinaud's palm. Echo'a was grateful the pair were like minded on that part; even if he didn't care for those particular reminders of the First, their aether would always be a source of comfort after everything.
The trio still sitting above his head started talking amongst themselves as soon as Alisaie and Alphinaud had settled once more. Their voices wove together, blending into a string of pleasant sounds that he found it easy to lose himself in. There were blips where he came out of that haze as foreign hands touched or the aether fluctuated as the personnel changed but, for the most part, they were fleeting moments and he went right back into the haze.
"You take that side there," cut through the haze in a voice he did not know. The sound of his friends talking was gone, replaced by the shuffle of bodies and the stranger's voice giving directions. The voice spoke again, curt still but softer both in volume and tone. "You should be able to remain at his head until we transfer him into the operating room but be quick on your feet and try not to run into our hands."
"Of course."
G'raha. Echo'a got his eyes open but only saw a wash of moving colors. G'raha's fingers found his hair before the other leaned close enough for Echo'a to at least make out his ears in among the red of his hair in that sea of light and dark colors. "They are going to move you now." He tried to lift a hand but someone grabbed it and held it in place. Frustration and a bit of panic churned through him in indignation but G'raha's hands were cupping his face, drawing his attention back to the other. "It's ok, Echo'a. I am right here; I will be the entire time." There was a pause before G'raha added as a careful request, "Think you can manage staying still for them?"
He tried to turn his face into G'raha's left palm but the other's touch held firm, restricting his movements. "Fine," he said, giving in.
G'raha rested his forehead against Echo'a's and Echo'a closed his eyes at the contact. "Thank you. It will only be for a moment. Try and bear with it."
When G'raha pulled away, Echo'a didn't bother to open his eyes again. The back of G'raha's fingers lingered against his ear as that curt voice spoke up again. "All ready?" Nothing verbal was given but the curt voice must have received some confirmation because the next thing they said was, "And, lift."
He tried to stifle the cry that attempted to escape at the sudden burst of pain and only managed to quiet it to a strangled whimper. That curt voice called out for a hold as G'raha ran his fingers through his hair and over an ear. The aether washing over him fluctuated.
Those fingers withdrew only for hands to settle on either side of his head again. "Breathe, Echo'a," G'raha softly encouraged. "You can do that much for me, can't you?"
He pulled air into his lungs, forcing himself to breathe again after having seized under both the pain and the change in aether. It quickly became shallow as the pain started to only become stronger.
G'raha's voice was laced with worry as he asked, "Echo'a?"
He tried turning more into one of G'raha's palms but the other held fast and kept his head still.
"He may be starting to experience greater levels of pain," the curt voice offered. "The jostling of the stretcher agitated some of his injuries. Despite our best efforts, the pain may increase as we make our way."
"Understood. I will do what I can."
"Go ahead," the curt voice ordered.
The stretcher pivoted slightly under him but beyond some vibration in the fabric beneath him, the only real tell that he was moving was the air brushing against his face. He tried to give in to the exhaustion that had yet to relent but the pain held him hostage for the entire journey. At least G'raha's touch lingered on his head, be it in his hair or against an ear.