No. No.

Siffrin killed the king. Finally.

Yet here he was. Back here. In the middle of the meadow. Again.

He was shaking; hands grasping at the earth beneath them, looking for some form of reality to cling to. They were so panicked and his body ached so horribly, that they couldn't even get a breath in.

Why couldn't he breathe why couldn't he breathe why couldn't–

He heard a voice calling his name.

"–frin! Siffrin!" it called. But it was...different. Why was it different?! Usually they expected Mirabelle's sing-songy tone, but no, no! It...

You loomed over him, staring deep into their eye– the pupil a mere pinprick as they struggled to draw a breath. You kept calling his name, a lingering sense of anxiety crawling along your spine the longer they didn't respond.

But they abruptly gasped and met your eyes, the faint gloss of tears shimmering in the sun. Siffrin shook their head and kept strong. For your sake, and his.