Father's Blessings

[Shay Cormac]

Again.

The Templar scratched at his throat, coughing. He couldn't see a thing.

Again.

Shay Patrick Cormac coughed. Strep throat, he thought idly, on the topic of his throat. Wonder why.

The privateer was surprised with himself. It's been a long time since he's expressed sarcasm in a moment like this; no control over what he saw or felt, whether he lived or died. Yet, the man was grateful that he was alive. That much he knew.

It was so quick, one moment it was the searing heat of the Dunes, and now this. Tears almost welled up in his eyes as he realized how pathetic he felt. He moved his head, and all it brought him was a migraine. Only a few drops of his salt flowed down his cheeks. Shay couldn't even bother to rub it off; it was too much to bear. Using all of the waking strength he had, he sat upright.

The Templar still couldn't see. Not like he'd want to, either. Shay kept his eyes shut, even if he knew he could open them. He wanted so bad to wake up in Fort Arsenal, his home. Perhaps he'd also like the nauseating swaying of the Morrigan, his ship, as he lay his head down on the desk of the captain's quarters. Hell, even the homestead of Achilles Davenport, the very place he'd see his own friends, his family, betray him.

The thought of the Davenport manor disgusted him. Yet, in comparison to Enel and the fate that man bestowed upon the Templar? Bliss.


Shay couldn't keep the tears from flowing.