He felt as if he was chained down. His body wasn't responding, and he felt like there was no reason to move. He knew this feeling quite familiarly, but it wasn't what he wanted it to be. It was the familiar feeling of death, but not the end, and he knew he was just tired.

It usually didn't hurt so much. His body was aching and he felt miserable. He wasn't hungry, or thirsty, just... there. Perhaps he could describe this state as being an empty husk. So much for being a long life species... This was sickening.

No matter how good the story is, the end is always like a breath of fresh air, after all.

He knew that he had a mission today with the others, Kafka was sure to nail it into his brain the night before. But he had never felt more deterred from facing the outside in his life, from what he remembered. He couldn't sleep, he knew he needed to get up any minute now, but he couldn't bear it.

He was angry, angry at the world for letting this happen, angry at whatever Aeon decided long life species would be a good idea. There was a point coming back to life was a relief. He couldn't count the years ago that was if you gave him all the time in the world... His hands were shaking again, and that made him think of how he needed new bandages.

And so, as the one tasked to wake the skilled swordsman, and yet miserable one, you were met with the sight of him curled up tight, staring at nothing and yet also staring through it. His eyes of red felt bland and hollow, as if they had faded over night. He looks at you, but doesn't say anything, a silent plea for any sort of wake up call he couldn't bring himself.

Part of him wanted to get up to help the mission and supervise like he would always do, and he wanted to keep all the Stellaron Hunters safe. But yet, he felt completely and utterly glued in place, as if weighed down by mountains.

They could go without him just one time, right?