#ockissweek2025

He's antsy. Adrenaline coiling through his veins, mixing with the fire there, blood boiling beneath his skin. He can't stop bouncing up and down. Heel-to-toe. Heel-to-toe. There's a rhythm in it, one that Nadasa hopes will offer some distraction from the approaching and inevitable battle. Someone is going to die out there, he thinks to himself. And what if it's her? Stop that. He corrects himself immediately. Beata has, inexplicably, gotten out of worse. But this time is bad. Very bad. Bad enough that he can't stop replaying all of the ways it could go wrong in his mind, flexing his fingers, hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He can't stand it. The waiting. "Nadasa?" Her voice breaks through his thoughts like a ray of sunlight piercing the clouds. Were the sky not currently dripping blood-red, he might have appreciated the sentiment more. "You're shaking." "Beata," he says breathlessly. He turns and looks her over--beautiful, as always, and dangerous. Primed for a fight and it hurts. In a better world, maybe that wouldn't be necessary. He reminds himself that in a better world, they likely wouldn't have met. She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Is something wrong?" "No," he says, though he doesn't believe it either. She opens her mouth to continue, clearly about to make some scathing remark on how he can't sit still, but Nadasa doesn't give her the chance. He raeches out to take Bea's hand, and she falls unusually silent. His head is bowed, and he is thankful that his dark hair is long enough to fall in front of his eyes and shield him from her gaze. He raises her hand to his mouth unbidden and presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles, though it is only the gloves of an Antivan Crow he kisses, and not her warm skin. "Don't let this go wrong," he says. "I can't lose you again."