The world is a blur of pain and shadows. My body feels like it's been torn apart and sewn back together wrong-joints grinding, muscles screaming with every breath. The Berserker Armor always leaves its mark, turning my own flesh into a battlefield. I can't tell where the bleeding stops and the scars begin anymore.

But through the haze, I feel her. Casca. Her trembling hands press against my torn skin, wiping away blood with a damp cloth. She's not steady-her touch shakes with fear and desperation -but she doesn't stop. Even when her breath catches and her shoulders tremble, she keeps working, refusing to let anyone else near me.

I want to tell her to stop. She doesn't have to carry this. Not after everything she's already been through. But I can't move, can't lift a hand to push her away. And some part of me doesn't want to. Her presence cuts through the fog, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has.

The firelight flickers, casting long shadows across the room. The others are near, their murmured voices fading into the background. All I hear is her breathing, sharp and uneven, as she fights through whatever war rages in her mind to be here.

She presses a fresh cloth against my side, and I wince, teeth gritting against the pain. My vision swims, but I force myself to speak, my voice barely a whisper.

"You're still the strongest person I know."

Her hand freezes, the trembling stopping for just a moment. I don't know if she believes me, but it's the only truth I can offer her right now.

Stronger than anyone who's ever swung a sword or faced a battlefield. Stronger because she's still here, fighting through fear and pain to pull me back from the edge.

I can't stay conscious much longer, but before the darkness claims me, I feel her hand rest against my face, gentle despite the rawness in her touch. Her strength keeps me tethered, and I let myself fall, knowing she won't let me go.