And when I write that Shay Cormac has unresolved PTSD from the horrors he encountered from Lisbon, what then?
That he gets severely claustrophobic in dark tunnels because it feels like the world has caved in on him.
That the sensation of soft earth sinking under his boots sometimes makes him seize because for a terrifying moment he thought the ground would give way and swallow him whole.
That his nightmares of rumbling, shifting tectonic plates beneath his feet are simply manifestations of his scarred mind mistaking the innocent creak and groan of the Morrigan over waves.
That sometimes when the sun beats down too hot, he thinks he can still feel the dust and debris coating like a layer on his skin, itching beneath his robes and his boots and his gloves; Choking up his lungs and suffocating him, kicking him into a panicked flight to get out, get out, get out, Shay, before the building collapses and takes you down with i—
Haytham never quite understood why after Shay had managed to bring down an enemy Fort once, he’d stood silently in the outskirts of its rubble and ruin, looking horrified at what he’d done all over again his mighty victory.
