Erian moved forward, unaware that he had stopped breathing.
Liriel's voice had initially paralyzed him, but then something instinctive and protective took control of his legs. Even though he wanted to go back to Seirion, even though he knew he should, his older-brother instinct pushed him forward.
Erian continued, guided by that heartbreaking cry that filtered through every crack in the corridor, as if it were stealing his air little by little.
With every step he took forward, the sounds became sharper and more unbearable.
Liriel was crying. It was an exhausted sob, made of pure pain, so broken that Erian's eyes burned without him being able to stop it.
He had heard many people cry in his life, but never like this one. It was the kind of crying that didn't ask for help anymore because it no longer believed it could receive it.
The kind of cry that comes when hope has been pulverized and the body stays alive only out of habit.
