[In the chaos of the moment, his every nerve on fire with anxiety, Wilhelm almost forgets that none of this is strictly real. But whatever this place is, it must be real to Sylvain. Somewhere pulled from his memories, somewhere shaped like home. He wonders if the fire is pulled from his memories too, history looping itself like in nightmares, or if it's just his fears refracted. Regardless, the man's solemnity sinks into him as they push past the heaps of rubble and tongues of flame.
When they spill out into the meadow, he doubles over with his hands on his knees, gulping in the fresh air. Well, fresher air. Around the burning monastery, haze smudges the sky a strange shade of orange. Wilhelm watches it in silence for a moment, before looking back to Sylvain.]
What, uh...was that?
[Or is using the past tense insensitive at a time like this?]
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When they spill out into the meadow, he doubles over with his hands on his knees, gulping in the fresh air. Well, fresher air. Around the burning monastery, haze smudges the sky a strange shade of orange. Wilhelm watches it in silence for a moment, before looking back to Sylvain.]
What, uh...was that?
[Or is using the past tense insensitive at a time like this?]