Gale’s mind was a fog of confusion and pain. His body felt as though it no longer belonged to him—heavy, foreign, and completely unresponsive. The brief moment when he had leaned against the tree felt like an eternity, the rough bark digging into his back, the pressure against his ribs unbearable. His chest tightened with each labored breath, and his limbs were weak, trembling under the strain.

The world around him felt distant, muted. His vision swam, flickering between reality and blackness. He couldn’t stay like this. Not when there was still a chance to move, to escape. His muscles screamed, but the will to survive—barely a whisper—kept him clinging to the moment.

Gale’s arms trembled as they moved, pulling against the ground in shallow motions. His fingers scraped across the earth, fingers too numb to properly grip, but he fought anyway. His hands, covered in dried blood and dirt, pressed into the soft, damp soil, dragging his broken form inch by inch, his body unwilling but still determined.

The effort to shift was agony. His head spun, and every time he tried to push himself further down, his limbs felt heavier, as though the earth itself was pulling him back. But he kept moving, each motion a struggle, a desperate plea for survival.

He managed to inch his legs further out, dragging them across the ground, his knees scraping against stones and the roots of trees. Every inch of movement made him feel as if his very soul was being drained. His chest felt hollow, but every shallow breath that made its way past his raw throat was a victory in itself.

His arms were trembling, the muscles in his shoulders burning, but still, he pushed forward. The pain in his chest, the poison in his veins, all of it made him want to stop, to let go. But something deep inside him refused. Keep moving. Keep moving.

He tried to push with his feet, dragging them behind him. The forest floor was a mixture of uneven stones, dirt, and twigs, making the task more excruciating with every crawl. The poison still had a firm grip on him, and his movements were sluggish, like a man moving underwater. His body was too broken to run, too battered to do anything but drag himself forward.

The cold dirt beneath him felt like fire against his raw skin. Every scrape of his knees and elbows on the rough earth sent fresh waves of pain through his body, but it didn’t stop him. His movements were erratic, desperate. He wasn’t sure how much longer his body could hold out.

But still, he pulled himself further.

His breath came in ragged gasps now, shallow and stunted. He could hear the faint sound of his own heartbeat, the rhythm of his blood rushing in his ears, but his vision was fading again. His body was losing the battle, slipping further into that dark void of exhaustion and pain. But even as his strength slipped away, he still managed to drag himself just a little farther.

His chest heaved with every painful breath, his face pressed into the dampness of the earth. His body gave out again, and with a soft groan, Gale collapsed onto his side, the world around him spinning violently. He barely had the strength to move his head, his face pressed into the dirt.

For a moment, he let the darkness take over, the weight of his own body too much. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. His muscles locked, his limbs frozen in exhaustion.

But he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

The brief lapse into darkness passed. His breath came shallow but consistent, each small intake of air a reminder that he was still alive. Gale could feel the pull of the world dragging him down, but some part of him still held on, gripping at the edge of consciousness.

And as his body trembled in the dirt, Gale knew one thing: even if he couldn’t move now, even if the forest around him seemed to swallow him whole, he would keep fighting. He would keep crawling.

He would survive.

Kayla gasped as he fell over, rolling him to his back and laying her hand on his chest. She could feel his chest slowly and shakily rising and falling and his heart beating, but kept her hand there while still staying alert for any guards. Surely they'd be looking for her soon and she worried what they'd do to Gale when they ever found them. Her eyes grazed over his cut and bruised body, eyes lingering on his face as her hand stayed steadily on his chest.

Gale’s body felt like it was betraying him, every part of him hurting in ways he couldn’t put into words. His chest was bare now, his torn shirt discarded somewhere behind him, leaving his skin exposed to the night air. His muscles were sore, stiff, and his wounds, deep and shallow alike, ached with each shallow breath he took. The poison still lingered in his veins, dulling his thoughts and making every movement feel as though he was trying to move through thick mud.

His heart beat erratically beneath the weight of his chest, and the exhaustion was starting to overwhelm him. His limbs were heavy, unresponsive, and the world around him seemed too distant, almost like he was floating above it all. But he couldn’t afford to give in—not now.

Kayla’s hand on his chest was the only thing that kept him tethered to the world, grounding him in the suffocating present. Her touch was soft, almost too delicate against the weight of everything else, but it was enough. It reminded him that he wasn’t alone—that there was still a reason to keep fighting.

But as his mind clouded with pain, Gale could feel the pull of darkness tugging at him, tempting him to rest, to stop. His breath rattled in his chest, short and jagged, his limbs still weak and trembling from the exertion. He knew he couldn’t stay here for long, not with the guards still potentially searching, not with the fear of being found hanging over them.

His hands moved instinctively, fingers barely able to grip the ground beneath him. The earth was cold against his skin, the rough surface of the forest floor scraping into his raw body. He shifted his weight, trying to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through him, his bruised body refusing to cooperate.

Gale’s vision swam in and out of focus, the world around him a blur of shadows and light. He couldn’t hold himself upright. The darkness was encroaching, threatening to claim him. His head dropped back against the dirt, and he fought to keep his eyes open, desperate not to slip away again. He had to keep moving, had to get away. The thought was there, but his body seemed to be losing the fight.

But Kayla was there. He could feel the pressure of her hand on his chest, steady and real, and it was the only thing that kept him from sinking completely into the void. He let out a soft groan, unable to do anything more than breathe, his body unable to comply with the orders his mind screamed at it.

Every breath felt harder than the last. His chest tightened as the poison continued to sap his strength, but even as his body screamed for rest, his mind refused to let go. Not yet. He wasn’t done.

His arms twitched again, the desperation to move still buried somewhere deep within him. He tried once more, dragging himself slightly, just enough to shift his position, but his body was a ragged mess, every muscle protesting the smallest effort.

The weight of the world was too much. His body could not take much more. With a final, almost imperceptible groan, Gale let his body slump back into the dirt. His face pressed into the cool earth, his limbs too weak to lift him further.

The only thing that remained clear was his pulse, slow and steady under Kayla’s hand, a reminder that he was still alive, still fighting, even if his body had no strength left to show for it.

"Rest" Was all Kayla said, watching him struggle. She sighed, tired herself from dragging him and also from being woken up. "I'll be here." She added softly, refusing to close her eyes and leave them both defensless

The word rest cut through the fog in his mind like a whisper in the storm. Kayla’s voice was soft but firm, an anchor in the sea of his pain. He wanted to listen. He wanted to obey, to let his body go limp and finally stop fighting. But something—some deep, stubborn part of him—refused to surrender. He wasn’t ready to stop. Not yet.

His breathing came in shallow, erratic gasps, each breath feeling like it was fought for. The weight of the night, the poison still circulating sluggishly in his veins, made everything seem distant. The forest, Kayla’s hand on his chest, even the coolness of the ground beneath him—they were all muted by the intensity of his body’s revolt.

Kayla’s hand remained steady on his chest, the warmth of it a comfort despite the quiet pressure it exerted. He could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her touch, still alive, still here, but so fragile. So close to breaking. And yet, despite everything, he couldn’t let go.

Gale’s eyes fluttered, barely able to stay open, his vision swimming in and out of focus. He tried to speak, to say something—anything—but his lips barely parted. All that came out was a soft, strained exhale, the barest whisper of an effort.

His body was protesting in every way it knew how. His arms felt numb, his legs useless. He wanted to move, wanted to push himself to stand, to run, to escape the suffocating grip of weakness and pain that held him down. But the effort was beyond him.

The pressure on his chest—the weight of Kayla’s hand, though gentle—was enough to keep him grounded, to remind him that he wasn’t entirely alone in this. It felt like a soft tether between him and whatever was left of his strength. And though his mind screamed for him to hold on, his body was giving out.

Gale’s fingers twitched against the dirt, the faintest movement, a small attempt to lift himself from the earth. But his arms barely responded. The darkness was pulling at him again, slow and relentless, dragging him toward unconsciousness. His head swam, spinning in circles of pain and exhaustion, and with every shallow breath, it became harder to stay present. The world seemed to blur and fade, like a dream on the edge of waking.

He felt the weight of his own body, felt the deep exhaustion that clung to him like a heavy fog. His chest rose and fell with more difficulty now, the rhythm unsteady, but each breath in felt like a victory, no matter how small. He wasn’t ready to fall asleep yet. He wasn’t ready to let go.

Kayla’s voice, though barely more than a murmur, seemed to pull him back, if only for a second. It was all he could focus on.

"Rest," she had said.

He wasn’t sure if he could. But he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his eyes open, how much longer he could keep fighting when his body was no longer capable of answering the call.

His body sagged against the dirt, too weak to rise, but his mind still held on, determined to remain. The world tilted around him. He could feel the pull of unconsciousness tightening, the weight of it pressing down on his chest, making each breath harder than the last.

And then, just as the last shred of awareness began to slip away, he whispered something, barely audible:

"Not… yet."

And with that, the darkness finally claimed him.

Kayla watched him carefully, noticing his hand move. She smiled softly at him, admiring once more his resiliance.

Gale’s mind drifted, heavy and blurred. There was no more pain, no more clarity, only a suffocating quiet that swallowed everything whole. The sharp, overwhelming ache in his body faded to a distant hum, and the cool forest floor beneath him became a welcome embrace. But even in the depth of that all-encompassing darkness, his consciousness refused to fully surrender.

Time passed in fragments—shifting images, broken sensations. The coolness of the night air brushed against his skin. The faint rustling of the trees was a soft whisper in the background. The weight on his chest—Kayla’s hand—was still there, an anchor that kept him tethered to something solid, something real.

A small, strained groan escaped his lips as his fingers twitched. The darkness that had pulled him under seemed to release him for a moment, giving him just enough room to breathe, to feel the sharp edges of his pain again. His chest rose and fell, but the movements were slow, lethargic. It was like he was fighting through thick fog, trying to crawl his way out of something too deep to escape.

The scent of earth and damp leaves filled his nostrils. He could hear the faint, rhythmic beating of his own heart, but it felt miles away, like a forgotten drum in the distance. He wanted to open his eyes, to see something, anything, but it was too much effort. His eyelids felt heavy, and his head swam when he tried to lift it.

Still, he felt the warmth of her hand against him, felt her presence like a pulse in the quiet. It grounded him. Pulled him back to the reality of where he was, what he had to do. He wasn’t finished yet.

Gale’s fingers moved again, scraping against the dirt, his arm barely lifting, but enough to shift his position slightly. His body trembled with the exertion, but he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

"Kayla…" The name was a hoarse whisper, barely audible. He wasn’t sure if it was more of a question or a plea, but it hung in the air, unanswered.

His head turned slightly, an unconscious attempt to shift away from the tree, away from the cold dirt. He needed to move, to get away from the place where everything had almost ended. He needed to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

But his body betrayed him again. His limbs were still too weak, his muscles still too shattered to do anything but drag him back down.

Another groan escaped him, his chest tightening with the effort. His throat felt raw, but he tried to push the words out, his voice a rasping breath. “I… need to move.”

It was more a statement to himself than to her, and perhaps even that small utterance was a sign of something in him refusing to break. He would not be left behind. Not like this.

Gale squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the pull of his muscles, the burning need to get up, to find his strength. But even the smallest movement felt like lifting mountains. He wanted to be free. To run. To escape.

His breathing slowed, then stopped entirely for a moment. The fatigue was too much. His head fell back against the dirt again, and the weight of the night seemed to close in on him, suffocating, until he couldn’t even feel Kayla’s hand on his chest anymore. Only the harsh rasp of his own breathing in the darkness.

And then… silence.

For a moment, Gale’s mind drifted again, and he felt like he was on the edge of something—like he was about to slip into a deep, dreamless sleep. The kind that took everything away and left only emptiness behind.

But there was still a spark, deep in the back of his mind, a flicker of resistance. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet.

Slowly, the darkness began to recede, and the world started to come into sharper focus. The dampness of the forest floor, the pressure of Kayla’s hand, the stillness of the night—it all crept back into his awareness.

Gale’s fingers twitched once more, digging into the dirt. His chest rose and fell with more steadiness now, though each breath still felt like a struggle. But the dark was no longer an enemy—it was a place of quiet. And that quiet, in itself, was what allowed him to find his strength again.

Kayla watched him curiously and concerned, hoping he wouldn't hurt himself. When he said her name, her chest warmed slightly. As he said he needed to move, she shook her head. "No. Stay put." She said, not asking for his opinion

Gale’s body tensed at her words, the command echoing in his foggy mind. "No. Stay put."

The authority in Kayla's voice was undeniable, but it didn’t sit right with him. There was a fire inside him, a desperate need to keep going, to push past the pain and the weakness, no matter what. Her words felt like a tether to a reality he wasn’t ready to accept. Stay put? After everything, after he’d fought so hard to get this far?

His hand clenched the dirt beneath him, fingers digging into the earth with what little strength remained. A sharp groan escaped his lips as he tried to push himself up, his chest heaving with each labored breath, his arms shaking violently under the effort. The poison still gnawed at his system, dulling his reflexes and clouding his thoughts, but the drive to keep moving—to get out—was like a primal instinct.

His eyes flickered open, the world spinning before him. Kayla’s figure was a blur in his hazy vision, her face a silhouette against the darkened forest, her hand still pressed firmly against his chest. He wanted to fight her, to argue, to push away from the safety she was offering. But his body, battered and worn, refused to cooperate. Each movement was a struggle; his limbs felt like they were encased in lead, each breath a labor of will.

“I can't...” The words barely made it past his cracked lips. His voice was weak, the dry rasp of it showing just how little energy he had left. But the frustration in his eyes was clear. He couldn’t stay here. Not when they were so close. Not when he wasn’t sure how much longer he had to stay alive.

He tried to speak again, but his throat felt like it was on fire. The effort to make sound sent a violent shudder through him, and his vision blurred once more. Stay put? His mind screamed against it. But his body betrayed him, sinking back into the dirt despite his desperate attempt to rise. His muscles were far too exhausted, his injuries too deep. He couldn’t keep fighting.

His hands scraped against the ground, but they lacked the strength to lift his body, and soon the effort became too much. His head fell back against the forest floor, his breath ragged. Kayla’s presence was a constant in the darkness, her hand still on his chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at her now. He had failed again.

In that moment, Gale felt the weight of it all—the endless fight, the pain, the poison still coursing through him—and his body, which had fought so hard for so long, finally seemed to give in. His eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

Kayla’s voice, though, still clung to him, her words resonating even in his fading consciousness. "Stay put."

He wanted to argue, wanted to fight against the limits his body had set, but as he lay there, struggling to hold onto awareness, he realized something. Maybe this time, staying put was the only choice left.

He swallowed hard, fighting against the weakness that pulled at him. The fight inside was fierce, but his mind was losing ground. Slowly, slowly, Gale drifted again, his breathing becoming softer, quieter, as the edge of consciousness began to slip away from him once more.

"You need to stop trying to get up and just rest for a while. They won't get to you with me here." She promised, patting his chest softly