Humanity forged in the wake of blades. Steel giving way for a heart that does not beat but feels deeply regardless.

But then comes the rest.

Themis knew of what happened, intellectually. It is entirely another thing to experience it first-hand. It rips at his psyche in a way none of the other memories or explosions thus far have been able to, driving sharp stabs of remembered agony deep into his marrow. It mixes with the pain of the present, pain that is not his, and for a single horrifying instant, his sense of reality slips from his fingertips.

It takes everything Themis has to wrestle the frayed threads of what this world should be back into his present state of being. Leaning clear of Byleth, he retches onto the floor, the violence of the motion - while terrible - manages to anchor him into his own body. There are tears on his face that he roughly scrubs away with a sleeve, spitting to clear his mouth before turning back to Byleth.

Having something to do is all that he can cling to to push himself. A goal. A loved one to help. He will have to care for himself later, to process everything that he bore witness to, that he had experienced, but for now he compartmentalizes and slams the lid tightly shut on top of all of it.

He pulls Byleth into his lap, stroking at his hair. Hopefully he wakes soon. When he does, he'll be treated to Themis looking absolutely haggard.