Stepping out from the exit that was once a red pulsing force and was now a dark spot into the unknown, Muller made his way into the room that had grown silent.

Much too silent for my nerves.

Much too raw was his face.

Beaten and bruised.

His gear a fractured mess. He bore a chest plate that was without shoulders and trousers that appeared slashed beyond repair.

His whole set hung on by threads stronger than steel.

This is what we expected to find the first time.

Not a party victorious, but this.

A man ravaged beyond recognition.

Brutus, Wilder, and my own eyes shot a look of understanding, of solidarity.

Through hardships we build bonds.

In trauma we tether ties between soldiers.

After enough, we become brothers.

Or so it goes in this bleak world we call home.

But this was even beyond our own pain.

His look…

His eyes…

Were feral and starved.

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Peering back past him, we searched for the other survivors.

The ones that would share his shock.

No one else arrived.

Had only he survived?

I thought as he made his way to the fire.

Sitting down on open ground, he said nothing.

He simply sat and stared into the flame.

As if listening to the flame speak in a language no one but he understood.

No…

Listening to the darkness.

Kneeling besides him.

He gave me his ear.

I whispered softly for only him to hear.

Was it a shrine?

Placidly, like the coming of a storm on a gentle sea, his face gave nothing.

It was his aura that gave everything.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never once leaving the fire's dance: as if it was a performance he couldn't dare miss.

Swallowing, watching my next verbal step.

I followed with:

"How bad?"

His eyes left the fire and joined mine.

Fierce yellow hues.

I never pay much attention to the color of a man's eyes; the sight of his jarred my expectations.

Loudly they told a story.

A story of a loss greater than anyone man should ever face.

Yet, the very realm we protected, gave men much more than they could handle in hopes of creating something great .

As if our realm forged the souls of men with the smoldering heat of its hells.

Walking on brimstone was the path of adventurers.

With a sigh.

One that told of meek acceptance.

He said for all to hear.

Once triggered, the shrine pitied us against one another.

When we wouldn't turn on one another, it would spawn in a creature that would easily kill anyone of us at random.

Like some gruesome game of dice it played with our lives.

Then, the countdown returned.

Pausing his voice broke into weeps.

We let him weep alone.

Between sobs he mumbled.

I didn't want to.

I swear to God Almighty I didn't.

To the damn brute realm that I didn't want to.

They didn't either.

But they forced our hands.

They pushed until...

.

.

Until we broke.

Then reaching my eyes but capturing my heart, he pleaded to me.

I'm sorry Captain.

I'm soo very sorry.

Losing any thread of composure, he snapped like weathered chainmail and was within my arms sobbing a storm.

I patted the man who now seemed more boy than ever before.

It's okay... it will be okay...I muttered with a force that tried desperately to convey something that I didn't even feel myself.