Bilorial sits up in the ruined wheat field, soft afternoon sunlight dancing across the grain around him as he chugs back health potions as fast as Mysa and Raenly can produce them, pressing them into his hands as he winces at the bitter aftertaste of each one, his tailored suit torn clean through at one shoulder and smoking faintly at the seams.
"I haven't been hit like that since the Curse wars," he mutters. "Twenty years since I've been out on my back. Syraleth must be burning through her whole core-crystal for this."
Beside him, Mika groans, sprawled across the dirt and clutching her head, which is still ringing faintly, having taken the brunt of Bilorial's weight during their crash to earth.
She slowly sits up, wiping a streak of blood from her split lip. "I am never doing that again. Almost wound up back in heaven."
