A few hours at least had passed since the last time he was awake. Kyrie opened his eyes again, still on the bed and in the dark room. His face was dry, his lips parched, and he felt tired but at the same time capable and able-bodied.
A paradoxical feeling, but one that made sense in the situation. He was tired but had to move on, for his sake and the sake of others. It made sense. Kyrie smacked his lips together, knowing well he would need to meet Zillia and Maremalle downstairs.
It would be awkward, in their messed-up way. They cared about him, and his darker mood was easy to detect, more so by the one who started it. Kyrie did not want to cause any more problems because of troubles he should deal with on his own.
He refused to be a weight for someone else. Everyone had problems, dragging others in the mass he was, and the sea of troubles and regrets he kept inside him was the last thing he desired. Maremalle had her demons to worry about, and her fears too.
