There's no doubt he's still rattled by the emotional turmoil the sickness had inflicted on him, and it wasn't at all helped by the fact that he'd never recovered from an onslaught of traumatic events before arriving in this strange world. He'd been picked up at his very weakest, the incessant desire to see the end of himself plaguing his thoughts and worsening upon arrival at the sight of a familiar face, one that reminds him of how wretched he is every time he has to see it. And now that he's been presented an opportunity to fight and escape, he's finding it difficult to do the former.
The last battle he'd fought, he'd seen too many lives lost and sacrifices made. He'd watched families torn apart, friends turning on friends, screams tearing past throats at meeting their ends, and all for what? His own twisted amusement, he'd later discover.
He's tired of fighting, he distantly thinks as he sucks in a breath and shakily exhales through his nose. But since when has being tired of something ever stopped him? He'd been tired of commuting, tired of working, tired of completing scenarios,
of living.
But he'd still done it, hadn't he? And now as he raises himself back up on unsteady legs, a sweep of vertigo briefly threatening to topple him back over before he quickly catches himself against the wall, Dokja finds that he's back at the very beginning. He thought he'd reached his end, but it looks like his story has simply looped back around for another turn, an unknown continuation he doesn't know the first thing about. A second chance? There's nothing as hopeful as that left inside of him. But another story...?
That's tantalizing. ]
I remember you.
[ Not fully, not clearly, but her words are far too similar to past ones for Dokja to miss such a detail. He remembers waking up, confused and out of it, to berries tucked against him and he thinks of that now as he pushes himself off the wall to stagger forward. There are holes in his memory, and when he tries to recollect pieces of that moment, there are more gaps than whole images. Still, at the very least he remembers being helped, and now that they're faced off like this, he assumes the worst. That she had just been trying to lure him to the other side with small dabbles of comfort.
He's never been good at understanding people. ]
I'm fine now. What I can do is continue this fight.
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There's no doubt he's still rattled by the emotional turmoil the sickness had inflicted on him, and it wasn't at all helped by the fact that he'd never recovered from an onslaught of traumatic events before arriving in this strange world. He'd been picked up at his very weakest, the incessant desire to see the end of himself plaguing his thoughts and worsening upon arrival at the sight of a familiar face, one that reminds him of how wretched he is every time he has to see it. And now that he's been presented an opportunity to fight and escape, he's finding it difficult to do the former.
The last battle he'd fought, he'd seen too many lives lost and sacrifices made. He'd watched families torn apart, friends turning on friends, screams tearing past throats at meeting their ends, and all for what? His own twisted amusement, he'd later discover.
He's tired of fighting, he distantly thinks as he sucks in a breath and shakily exhales through his nose. But since when has being tired of something ever stopped him? He'd been tired of commuting, tired of working, tired of completing scenarios,
of living.
But he'd still done it, hadn't he? And now as he raises himself back up on unsteady legs, a sweep of vertigo briefly threatening to topple him back over before he quickly catches himself against the wall, Dokja finds that he's back at the very beginning. He thought he'd reached his end, but it looks like his story has simply looped back around for another turn, an unknown continuation he doesn't know the first thing about. A second chance? There's nothing as hopeful as that left inside of him. But another story...?
That's tantalizing. ]
I remember you.
[ Not fully, not clearly, but her words are far too similar to past ones for Dokja to miss such a detail. He remembers waking up, confused and out of it, to berries tucked against him and he thinks of that now as he pushes himself off the wall to stagger forward. There are holes in his memory, and when he tries to recollect pieces of that moment, there are more gaps than whole images. Still, at the very least he remembers being helped, and now that they're faced off like this, he assumes the worst. That she had just been trying to lure him to the other side with small dabbles of comfort.
He's never been good at understanding people. ]
I'm fine now. What I can do is continue this fight.