"Don't you dare give up," a new voice, a low, furious growl, cut through the haze. DragonSlayer. He was standing over them, his sword held in a shaking hand, his face a mask of pale, terrified determination. "We didn't come this far for you to die on us now, you idiot."
The words, the raw, desperate sincerity of them, were an anchor, a lifeline in the storm. Kenjiro clung to them, focusing on the sounds of his friends' voices, on the warmth of Lyrielle's healing magic. He fought. He pushed back against the pain, against the darkness, against the sweet, seductive promise of nothingness. And slowly, agonizingly, he began to pull himself back from the brink.
