His wings hurt with every flap, harsh salty air meeting bare, open wounds, but physical pain on its own was no match for Ishiah's resolve. Already, he could see that there were more people starting to crowd around, pulling together their strength in numbers, in a way that he no longer saw half as often in the modern world, where technology had given man the tools to act on his own— and so isolated him, unintentionally. Kicking up sand with his movement, Ishiah swept over to where Lucy was, shielding her from the view of the crowd with the impressive wingspan, until he could have sworn that he felt the sharp edge of blades digging into the muscle. Felt the warmth of blood running down his skin, although he saw none of that.

Only a mangled body off to the side, one he refused to look directly at, given the bright red color of hair which shone under the sun. Cambriel, most likely. His head severed from the body.

"How do we get back?" Ishiah asked, partially directed at himself and willing an answer to come to mind, but he wasn't accustomed to dreams. Had never quite had them prior to the island. Peri, they remembered, but they didn't dream. Couldn't lose themselves in such fantasies and nightmares.

This was new.

"This isn't real— how do you know that this isn't real? And why... isn't that knowledge enough to pull us out?"