The blur of battle had seemed to slow into a lengthy descent as the brain had sailed straight into the sea off the coast. Being plunged into water for the second time in short order had been the thought his mind had fastened on to, as though the enormity of everything else was just a fraction above what he had left to spare. A humorous notion despite the very grave prospect of drowning.

When his gaze locks on to Enver's, he feels whatever scraps of resolve he has left melt almost instantly. The man is standing perfectly in tact, as though the city behind him isn't aflame and crumbling. As though there hasn't just been an assault on life as they all knew it.

He'd promised he would return and this moment, fully realising he has delivered on that promise, steals from him the last of his exhausted-many-times-over strength. He doesn't dare take another step, not with how close his knees feel to buckling. Soon enough somebody will come along with some healing magic, or will press a potion into his hand, but right now he just stands and stares. Congealed blood clinging to him. Bruised and battered and... smiling.

He's got enough for that. Always enough for that, he thinks, as his lips curve upwards and he starts to laugh, cheeks surprisingly wet with more than just sea water.