The clash of steel finally falls silent, leaving only the howl of the mountain wind to fill the space between you. Your grip remains firm around the shaft of your lance despite the ache burning through every muscle, each breath drawn sharp against the frigid Coerthan air. Across from you, Foulques sways where he stands, every laboured breath betraying the toll the battle has taken, though the stubborn fire in his eyes refuses to dim.

“Impossible…” he rasps, tightening his hold upon his own lance until his knuckles pale. “My courage is absolute.”

The words are spoken less to you and more to himself, as though sheer conviction might undo the defeat his body can no longer deny. His composure has long since fractured, leaving behind only a man driven beyond reason by wounded pride and the desperate need to prove that he was worthy all along. The lance in his grasp wavers, its point cutting aimless arcs through the air as he staggers backwards, refusing to surrender even when every instinct should tell him the fight is over.

“Come no closer!”

The command rings hollow, his heel catches nothing but empty air. Horror overtakes the fury in his expression as the ground vanishes beneath one foot, loose stone breaking away into the abyss below. His balance falters, the cliff's edge crumbling beneath his weight, and instinct overwhelms pride in the space of a heartbeat. The hand that moments ago sought only to strike reaches desperately towards you instead, trembling as it hangs suspended between defiance and survival.

“No-” It's scarcely more than a whisper, carried away by the wind before his fingers have the chance to find yours.