Just as the knights of Winterhold were wavering between shock and suspicion.
Feias, bringing up the rear of the party, sat on horseback, his entire body trembling violently.
His face, already covered in dust and blood, was blank with disbelief.
Before passing through the gates, even after seeing the intact barrier, his mind had kept telling him over and over:
"This is an illusion... all of this could be an illusion..."
He dared not believe it.
He was too afraid that all of this was nothing but a cruel, beautiful dream.
Once he woke from that dream, the plunge into despair would crush him completely.
Only he knew what kind of hell he had endured on the journey.
Three companions who had shared life and death with him had been torn apart alive by Mutants before his eyes, all to cover his escape from the encirclement.
Their dying screams echoed in his mind every night.
When he finally managed to reach Winterhold.
All the hardships and dangers of the journey had earned him nothing but the archbishop's cold, grudging charity, followed by endless harassment and mockery from this squad of knights along the way.
At night, those Novice Knights had even gathered around the campfire and laughed without restraint, saying his hometown must already have become a slaughterhouse.
Those words, sharp as knives, had stabbed at his nerves throughout the journey.
But he dared not turn on them.
He did not even dare show the slightest trace of displeasure!
They were the last lifeline he could grasp for Fog Town!
Late each night, countless anxieties and grievances had welled up inside him. Several times, he had been unable to stop himself from hiding beneath his blanket and sobbing in despair.
He could only cling to the pitifully faint "what ifs"