Cephied Variable

Ghaleon was going to do it. One of these days he was going to snap and combust Dyne's cursed lungs with a fire spell and the boy would have it coming.

It's not that the others weren't particularily annoying- Mel was loud and uncouth, and Lemina spent far too much time rebraiding her hair before battle. But Dyne- oh, the country boy was something else with his backwards manners and his drawling speech and the way he had to be so Althena-cursed righteous about everything, like he was wise or something when really, he was nothing more than an ignorant country bumpkin and who did he think he was-

"Ghaleon, are you going to be okay?" Dyne's brow was wrinkled in concern and he reached out to grab Ghaleon's shoulders.

"I'll be fine," Ghaleon snapped, pushing his comrade's arms away roughly, "I can walk on my own." he braced himself against the wall shakily, only to have his legs collapse beneath him. With a withering look, Dyne crossed his arms and watched the injured mage expectantly.

"See," Ghaleon muttered darkly, casting his gaze aside, "This is why I suggested we recruit that Acolyte from Lann. It was your idea to team up with DeAlkirk."

Dyne simply shook his head, chuckling, "Just swallow your pride, Ghaleon, and let me carry you already."