one brings shadow .

Once his wound is as stabilized as it could be, Ovan dares to sit up straight, shifting to his knees, and even the slow shift in gravity fails to prevent the vertigo from tilting his vision in fades of repeating afterimages. His good arm presses into the glassy floor, the salted core of the well almost wet under his fingertips, steadying himself in his attempt to reacclimated.

( come on. get it together—he needs you now more than ever )

"Take the greatsword—let Ifrit handle it," he manages after another quiet pause, "There's no point in anything slower than an amaro. I'll help handle—getting him onto one."

And yet, despite the sudden turn of events, the Raen would still have a hold on the situation before them, even in such a dazed state. Warily, he looks up at Ekal, whose expression was far less vindictive than he would have presumed, should his vision stay still long enough to observe. It takes far much longer to realize much of his current problems have to do with Gale's ripping and tearing causing blood loss, beyond the shock of being turned into a shark's bait. "If he learns of this," he sighs, referring to the injury, "he'll drift farther from us." The difference between the light consuming him and the light causing him to harm one of his comrades were day and the night they were trying to desperately to return. Even with Ryne's help... he doesn't speak of the plan he intends to follow through with once a chirurgeon handles the rest of the bite, and his nervous system has a moment to relax. The rest of their troupe handles the logistics around them, awaiting the return of an obligatory messenger with their sudden mayday. For the matter of Gale's reaction to learning of this... Ovan, surprisingly, doesn't have much else to say, soon shakily bringing himself up to a knee to attempt to make a stand and assist Thancred with the unconscious Xaela. "Lend me your arm, please."

( and this is before even beginning to really consider what this sudden reaction means, what the loss of any thought or reason could mean for gale, what the light has done to him... they can't be too late already, can they? he's not too far gone just yet, is he? )

A quiet sigh, and Ekal finds himself reluctantly nodding, only huffing a little as he lifts the weapon enough to offer to the egi, once again finding himself vaguely wondering just how Gale manages to swing this thing around so effortlessly.

And that leaves them with the tank himself to deal with now.

"You know he will find out, one way or another." Ekal doesn't protest. He understands, knows exactly what Ovan is talking about, the kind of guilt that will crush Gale if he were to be told the new scar on their summoner's arm was not a sin eater getting a lucky bite in. He also knows Gale doesn't give himself enough credit when it comes to his intelligence, more perceptive than others may believe him to be, and certainly smart enough to connect the dots and take a reasonable guess even with a likely gap in his memories. And Ekal's shoulders slump, the toll weighing on him already as he keeps turning this situation around in his head. This is all assuming a best case scenario, but... "... you know we might have to restrain him until we're sure he's back to being himself, right? He has to wake up, eventually. There is only so many times I can put him to sleep." And that's... also hoping for a best case scenario. Ekal isn't quite that optimist, ever the skeptic, cynical one himself. He rubs his eyes with one gloved hand, weary, a headache already starting to creep in. "I don't know how you plan to keep this from him... but I'm not planning on telling him, not right now." Hopefully they'll have the time to figure this out back at the crystarium.

The wait for the amaros stretches on and on, uncomfortably so, Ekal keeping a hand on his staff, fingers twitching, clenching it tight enough to hurt until he forces himself to relax his grip, most of the time spent watching the Xaela, eyes searching for any sign of awareness and inevitably drawn to the pure white that shouldn't be there even as he tries to make himself look away. The mounts finally landing is hardly any relief, and the jostling and maneuvering they have to do to get Gale on board keeps Ekal on edge until the dark knight is secured and everyone is ready for the flight. The only relief he can find is in knowing the creatures know their way around and back to the city, enough that Ekal himself doesn't need to steer the amaro much himself— he doesn't think he'd be capable of keeping the route in mind right now, honestly. It's a quiet, grim affair, the fallen lightwarden almost forgotten in the aftermath, the night sky above their heads only helping in keeping the events fresh in his mind and his thoughts on what's soon to come, hardly finding in himself the vague hope that the spell the Light had woven on their friend might have been only a bout that's already passed. They should've known, they should've known that it would be too much, that Gale's insistence on bearing the burden would not lead to anything good, that he couldn't really be taking all that unto himself like the martyr he keeps trying to be, that the smiles were forced and the lingering exhaustion wasn't imagined, they should've seen signs of this— but it's too late now, isn't it? There is only regret to push aside and picking up the pieces.

Ovan scarcely remembers how he managed to snap the Ishgardians back into action. Perhaps his strange scales were different enough compared to the wyrms' cousins that his presence was tolerated through his efficiency, through the stoic expression that didn't waver sneer after sneer, intending to take all of the burden off of Gale. He'd faced enough discrimination, barely scraping by with his overbearing generosity. The moment they stepped into Coerthas, after the narrowed scrutiny of Gridania, after the ousting of their group, Ovan knew.

Perhaps it was the ushering of his voice, the calculated reminder that they needed to pick up or be picked off, inevitably taking the role himself despite his profession. Ovan doesn't want to have to continue this, as they have no real position besides the disagreement they cannot even voice without hushed tone. But.. he has to play the part. He can't search for Gale if the dragons that siege lay waste to one of the few entries into Ishgard. He has to ward them off, even if he almost wants to see the place burn ( because in the end, there are people who don't see the sun, the commoners who rarely see the top levels of foundation deserved a better future ).

When he finds the end of the trail of splattered blood and heavy, inconsistent footsteps, he hopes Gale doesn't notice anything different in the icy snow. The summoner himself is roughed up, unsurprisingly, but his surface wounds appeared to be sealed up, angry and raw at the wind chill of Coerthas.

"You're concussed. Just focus on inhaling and exhaling." Had Gale not immediately collapsed, he would have been able to offer some kind of reassurance, but unfortunately, things have not been going their way lately.

And where Ovan was an exceptional summoner, he was a mediocre scholar—he was lucky to have the arcanists' guild be so forthright in having their students learn everything they could. Still. his physick should be enough to quell the blood that dripped down Gale's face, sticky and drying into his floppy hair. "Hold still," he hums, kneeling down and holding up his hand, hovering over azure hair, the aether manifesting in a soft, minty glow. At least with the hidden wounds taken care of, it may ease the headache Gale is bound to be suffering with among other symptoms—the issue of getting to a safe place to rest was his next priority, for they were not going to be heading back to Ishgard so soon.

"The threat has been averted, we managed to hold them off," he informs him, returning his hand to his side and kneeling properly on in the snow. "I wasn't able to explain much until the last wyrms were either slain or retreated, but the Temple Knights, naturally, wanted answers. You saw them, of course." There's no easy way to dispel the confusion that a Xaela brought to Ishgardians. After all, the last tribe had been persecuted to death. How many of those knights were woven tales of men clad in Nidhogg's scales? Even the Raen wasn't exempt, but at least it was a step closer to a Hyur in comparison. Still... it wasn't easy to explain without referring to himself, the other Au Ra that had been subject long enough to their tendencies to comment.

Gale can't help the hiss, eyes, squeezed shut, a brief pang of pain before the magick's soothing effects takes hold, a small relief amidst all the recent events. He's still hurting, but... it's better, at least. Sore, mostly. The beating he took from the hordes of wyrms swarming the city are certainly showing themselves, even if dulled for the time being. He can think again, at least, to some extent. And that reminds him—

"The dragons— the people—" eyes widen in horror. Even when the worst of the assault had already been handled, it wasn't safe yet, he should've been there to keep fighting, no matter if it was just a couple or a hundred still trying so viciously to lay waste to the city, there were people there—

Ah, they were all handled, then...? ( of course, ovan is a skilled summoner, exceptional at his job and smarter than he could ever hope to be, he would never even dare of leaving without ensuring first everything is handled and cared for. he would never run first. ) He grimaces at the thought, eyes adverted, now that his head is at least a little clearer. What a mess he made, left it all for everyone else to clean up, endangered innocents and allies alike, all through his own carelessness. Fray would laugh at him, wouldn't he?

( you just can't help it, taking all the faults of the world on your shoulders, can you? )

There is more at the back of his mind, harsher words not quite coming to him yet, more what ifs and worst cases he will surely dwell upon the moment things are quiet again, if they don't come to fruition faster than he expects them to. But. Ovan isn't mentioning them. Not yet. He's not pointing out every mistake and careless action, impaired judgement or not.

Whatever it is, it doesn't take away that Ekal is being too godsdamned slow putting their possessed tank to sleep.

Ovan can do nothing but bear with it, fighting an uphill tussle as he tries to keep Gale's teeth from snapping anything else before he inevitably passes out from the pain and he becomes this man's meal for the afternoon. Normal, typical things, right? ( the distractions are not helping at all considering he can barely see in front of him with the white, blinding snaps that cloud his vision ).

Finally, Ekal's spell puts Gale to sleep, and strength is exchanged for dead weight—admittedly, it's not much of an improvement as Gale did not let go of his arm, and the amount of blood that spilled has not ceased, and the pain has not subsided even marginally, but at least he's no longer an active threat... There is no relief on the summoner's expression, nor in his voice, as he seethes through his teeth, the unceremonious throbbing of shredded flesh aches horrendously with his elevated heart rate.

Maybe this is his punishment for subjecting Ekal to his aching scars back in the Doman quarter, for he can't do much besides squint in disdain while the Viera takes the time to make sure their dark knight is still alive. "—There's nothing connected anymore—" he observes, a struggle to articulate syllables in this state, "—and tie off my arm, first—" With little range of motion, it would take the additional hands of the Scions to peel some two hundred and plus ponzes of off him. The offered cape is taken with little resistance, the survival instincts keeping Ovan's typical quips quiet. As much as this currently hurts, having the exposure to the salted air around them would be worse. Save for coming back to Twine, there was no optimal place to go besides back to the Crystarium to get any emergency treatment. This was the best he was going to get.

Ovan finds himself unsure of how much blood has been lost in the struggle, but there's enough to warrant a new top entirely at this point. Surely, the alchemists could find something, but... this stalemate will not be kind to him.

He bites down a little harder on Ekal's cape as he struggles, but manages to free his less burdened arm from beneath the clawed vestiges of Gale's slackened grip. Every movement is another lightning shot from too much agitation, and he needs to stabilize Gale's head before it lolls off to the side and takes his arm with him. It leads to a rather ungraceful solution of grabbing his long fringe, hoisting him up by the hair to allow gravity to work with the party and dislodge his teeth from his arm.

Denial does little to help with heavy blood loss and traumatic injury, though.

The hiss is inevitable at the sight, really— Ekal himself may have inflicted far more gruesome injuries before, but he hardly had to ever worry about them, let alone care for them. ( it has nothing to do with having had to watch gale, the ever friendly, ever ready to throw himself into the fire first, be the one to turn around like a mindless beast and create this mess himself. it has even less to do with the newfound empathy he doesn't know what to do with. ) Some part of him still manages to recall some form of first aid while the scions around him scramble to action, watching some of them out of the corner of his eye check on Gale while Alphinaud comes to assist the wounded Au ra. Ekal does what he can to help, sharp tip of his staff stabbed into the bloodied cape to tear it, a piece fashioned into a tourniquet for lack of a better option, little regret in tying and tightening as much as he's allowed, the other saved to improvise into gauze once the kid's done mending what he can in this situation.

"... Well, if you're lucky this will heal well enough to not mess up your arm's function." He would know all about debilitating injuries, huh? The remains of the cape will hold up until they return to civilization at least, Ekal quick to wrap the rest around Ovan's arm and dress the wound once he's sure the barely recovered chunk is gonna stay in place. Then he's just as quick to push that thought right out of his head lest he linger on it for just a little too long. The wrap is tight enough, that's what matters. That's one less problem for him to deal with, when he's not a healer in any capacity.

That still leaves their unconscious tank, though.

❝ gale ..? ❞ a part of her head thinks with joy— how fortunate ! he's okay ! and then that same thought crumbles in the wake of acrid amusement . how would he not be ? he has challenged the likes of the king of resolve, the queen of reason . she is no mighty ruler, no grandiose adventurer . her days serving as a thunderyard hunter are long past, after all .

she is not a candle compared to his blaze . not even flame . she is the match that strikes only to immediately be put out by a stray breath .

and yet it is him that she hears apologize . if she yet had control over her faculties, her hand might've squeezed to a fist . alas, all she can manage is the weak furrow of her brows as she once again tries— and fails— to sit herself up, punctuated by the gasp as pain, needling and sharp, rises up her spine .

"... I should've been more careful." In the fight against the beast. In his teachings to her in the dark arts. In what he taught her and showed her so recklessly without considering the consequences, whether or not her body and mind were ready to handle the burden. "For that, I'm sorry." It feels worth repeating, even if it's not quite accepted, and it doesn't really help, but... it's the least he can do now.

that alone is deeply unsettling, &. even through their fatigue addled mind that fact has clarity in crystal . things are never silent in the backroom, &. certainly they are not silent in shale's apartment, run down as it is all things considered . there are no few number of systems that run in place at both locations, &. the faint din of the systems running, the notification set in place when a system diagnostic has run its course, the sound she herself managed to program for when the holographic keyboard buttons are pressed ... they are familiar, &. they are not here .

wheresoever that here even is— a question that must soon be remedied . &. so she makes to sit up, finding very soon that such a task is nigh impossible . eyelids that are already shut squeeze harshly in response to the pain as she tries, &. lips part back to reveal grit teeth from which a sharp hiss rushes out .

❝ fuck . ❞ its a far cry from her usual eloquent speech, but when even the twitch of her fingers is a monumental task to overcome, one might understand why she speaks so . it takes some resolve for her eyes to open, pale blue flitting quickly to the hand in question . so focused upon watching in morbid curiosity as they twitch without her control, &. then fall still when she tries to move them, that she does not so much as notice the companion within the room ...

( he should've done better, should've stressed out more the exact kind of danger using living dead posed— shouldn't have taught her that kind of dark arts to begin with, not when he knows full well the dangers it poses— )

He's heard the reassurance enough times, that Shale should be fine, that she should recover even after such a battle, and yet. It really isn't enough to help, is it? He can't weave aether to stitch wounds shut, or even just help in her absence when she could not, or...

( he feels just a little useless. )

Waiting has been agony.

Gale is pacing, armor surprisingly shed for once in favor of a borrowed hoodie that wouldn't weigh so heavily on healing wounds, tail swishing from side to side, just a little too lost in his own head to really pay attention to anything, even when the sheer stress and anxiety are at the forefront. He's stuck in his own thoughts just enough to not notice the elezen stirring until a faint curse reaches his ears, and Gale stops in his steps entirely.

"Shale—?!" He's maybe a little too loud, rushing back to her side, ignoring as best as he can how teary eyed he suddenly is. "How are you feeling...? You... you've been out for a while already and..." Gale trails off, unsure. The silence feels just a little more uncomfortable.