The two weeks that followed took a toll on Fernand's health. Fear, doubt, and paranoia had taken over his mind. What if I start coughing up flowers? he thought. What if I die from the disease and nobody notices? What if Mathilda dies before I'm cured of the disease? Could it spread to other parts of my body? Such thoughts kept him awake at night. Despite his deteriorating mental and physical health, Fernand tried to function as normally as he could.
But it's hard to brush off fatigue as minute when you collapse during training.
Pain surged through Fernand as he fell to the hard ground. His eyes struggled to stay open. He could hear the clattering of armor and weapons as attention was drawn to him. "Fernand!" A familiar voice called out. It was Clive. "Fernand, are you okay?" Clive cried, worry lacing his voice. "What happened?"
Fernand made an effort to get up, only to stumble back down. "Don't worry, I'm okay," he replied, using his lance for support. "I... I'm just tired."