[Please, please, please ... echoes Kratos's mind in agreement; it's paralysing, that moment, even though Kratos could never have said how long it lasts. He's barely breathing himself, leaning into Yuan in return, his wrist flaring painfully with the strength of Yuan's grip; and Kratos doesn't care.

[Please.

[The sensation of the Seed blooming is very nearly overwhelming, not because of its strength but because it's been so long since even a flourishing world felt like anything other than a muddy lake well below its level; and something else, too. It's not Martel, but it's so near to her that Kratos feels the aching lance of grief in Yuan's mind. Wordless, unheeding of Dirk hovering nearby, Kratos abandons the pressure on his wound to wrap his arm around Yuan and pull him into a hard embrace, even seated, even against the wall, with Yuan's hand tight around his wrist.

[He means to speak but what comes out instead is a scattered laugh; tearful, half a sob, but a laugh nevertheless, very nearly wild with uncomprehending delight.

[They did it.]