In the flickering light of the fire, dimming as Istredd dismantles is, Wilhelm actually looks proud of himself. Then from that high, he comes spiraling down. Wax wings too close to the sun and all that. Anxiety cracks his expression, draws his hands into knots at his side.
"Okay, I'll...I'll try."
Closing his eyes, Wilhelm tries to keep his breathing measured, in and out like before, but his chest suddenly feels tighter. Everything feels tighter: his shoulders, the skin around his knuckles, the hall around him, which was so cavernous a moment ago. He tries to focus on what he's accomplished, as Istredd instructed. He'd called the fire to him; he'd controlled it; he'd dismissed it. He can do it again.
He tries to follow the same path that used to lead him to that inner flame. Grasp all the things that ignite his rage and let them burn. Drawing in a sharp breath, he feels a prickle of heat in his palm — and choking on it, he feels his stomach lurch.
His body isn't even really here; it's on his bed back in the castle. Here, his stomach is empty; you can't really eat in the Horizon. It's all in his head. But that's where the problem is too, some neural link sabotaging him when he tries to spark fire, some knot of trauma tangling him up.
He tries to push through it. His breathing breaks the confines of the careful intervals he's set, his stomach flops around like a fish out of water, and no flame comes. Finally, Wilhelm shakes his head. Frustrated, he holds his head in his hands. He says nothing, waiting for the nausea to still.
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"Okay, I'll...I'll try."
Closing his eyes, Wilhelm tries to keep his breathing measured, in and out like before, but his chest suddenly feels tighter. Everything feels tighter: his shoulders, the skin around his knuckles, the hall around him, which was so cavernous a moment ago. He tries to focus on what he's accomplished, as Istredd instructed. He'd called the fire to him; he'd controlled it; he'd dismissed it. He can do it again.
He tries to follow the same path that used to lead him to that inner flame. Grasp all the things that ignite his rage and let them burn. Drawing in a sharp breath, he feels a prickle of heat in his palm — and choking on it, he feels his stomach lurch.
His body isn't even really here; it's on his bed back in the castle. Here, his stomach is empty; you can't really eat in the Horizon. It's all in his head. But that's where the problem is too, some neural link sabotaging him when he tries to spark fire, some knot of trauma tangling him up.
He tries to push through it. His breathing breaks the confines of the careful intervals he's set, his stomach flops around like a fish out of water, and no flame comes. Finally, Wilhelm shakes his head. Frustrated, he holds his head in his hands. He says nothing, waiting for the nausea to still.