[Sorey's never said anything aloud, for fear of hurting anyone's feelings, but Zaveid and Dezel's wind is completely different. He'd almost lost himself once; he'd gotten so used to how Dezel controlled the wind with featherlight touches, razor precision, piercing and lilting that when Zaveid came along with this thousands of years of knowledge and his brute-force gusts that Sorey was almost bowled over. It had taken a lot of adjusting, and it made Sore almost sick with heartache, missing Dezel as fiercely as a prisoner misses fresh air.

Sorey lights on the platform as gently as if he'd been carried there and he almost cries. The breath he sucks in is shuddering and grateful, and his eyes sting though the tears down fall. He doesn't say anything but he knows Dezel must feel it, the way Sorey's heart beats with the sound of home, home, home like he was born to be Dezel's vessel.

The crumbling rock wall is less than ideal as a ladder but Sorey is slow and careful, testing his handholds as he pulls himself up.]

Dezel...I don't know- gh- I don't know if you want to come with us to fight Heldalf. If you don't- if you don't, that's fine. The plan we have is kind of an 'end of the line' thing. [Sorey sniffs.] I'm probably not going to be coming back from it for a while, at least.