Auron writhed beneath the sheets as he tried to sleep, chest filled to the burst with both anxiety and pain. He wasn't exactly sure if he could call it "sleep" though; human functions that most people take for granted were eerily absent in his imitation of a life and acted as a constant reminder of his borrowed time. Whatever it was though, it was the closest peaceful state he could manage, and even a moment of peace was welcome before the oncoming storm of battle that he anticipated to come in the following days. Zanarkand was getting closer, physically and mentally, and he could feel the soul or what still managed to keep itself from the evil mass that now enveloped it of the man he loved, if he could even call him a man anymore.
Despite the fact that the inn was warmed to the point of near discomfort to keep out the frigid atmosphere that hung over the frozen lake outside, Auron felt a harsh cold grip his bones. The fight would be grueling, and what would happen to Jecht after