Syrlya's breathing wheezes faintly as there's pressure kept on his chest. His body seems to slump a little, but the hand holding the iron still clings with a tight, desperate grip. He... he hadn't been fast enough.

His lead lulls a little as he tries to focus his gaze. Somehow there's a new rolling agony past the numbness of being crushed, but it's nothing to the weight of fear, guilt, failure.

But those, he's fought through before. Those claw as his mind every day, and he takes a shuddery breath as he reminds himself that all his misery has to wait.

He sucks in a shuddering breath, glancing until he sees--"Peridot."