The world blurred around Dante as he walked, each step becoming more difficult than the last. He had been moving on pure determination for the past hour, possibly longer—time had lost meaning somewhere between the ruins and the open countryside they now traversed. His legs felt like they were made of water, his arms trembling with the effort of carrying Selena's slight weight. The storm magic that had sustained him through countless battles was guttering out like a candle in the wind.
He should have stopped to rest. He knew that with the part of his mind that could still think clearly. But stopping meant acknowledging how badly he was hurt, meant facing the possibility that he might not be able to start moving again. So he kept walking, one foot in front of the other, breathing through the pain that radiated from his cracked ribs with every inhalation.
