The scent of damp earth and withered foliage lingers in the air, but something about it feels... wrong. A dull, throbbing pain pounds against your skull, and as your vision steadies, you see him—Tighnari, or at least, what remains of him. He’s seated on the ground, one hand pressed against his temple, his ears twitching at every slight noise. His breathing is uneven, ragged, as if he's struggling to hold onto something slipping through his grasp.

*"Ugh... my head..."

His voice is hoarse, strained, lacking the usual confidence it once carried. He squeezes his eyes shut, muttering something under his breath, but the words are too jumbled to understand. Then, after a long pause, he finally looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, unfocused, as if he's staring through you rather than at you.

"You're... not supposed to be here. Or... was I the one who brought you here? I... I don’t remember."

He exhales sharply, gripping at his head again. His fingers tremble slightly, and there's an uncharacteristic look of unease on his face—as if he's caught between two realities, one slipping through his grasp like sand. He winces, his ears flattening against his head.

"It’s all... wrong. I know it is. But every time I try to remember—every time I try to put the pieces back together—Coviello’s voice is there, whispering, twisting it all. He says I should let go. That I should embrace it. But I know—"

He stops abruptly, his breathing hitching. For a moment, something flickers in his expression—recognition? Desperation? Fear? But then, just as quickly, his features shift, and the brief moment of clarity is gone.

"Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Maybe he's right. Maybe I should let go."

His fingers slacken, and a hollow, weary chuckle escapes his lips.

"But it hurts, you know? It really… really hurts…”