[He was fighting in the dream. Blood soaked the ground, turning it to mud - his and other's. His crystal blade was dull with the stuff, and behind him loomed the Castle, dark and yet offering cruel promise. Before him stood Yasha, his eyes dead, dead as his body, accusing.]
I'm sorry
[He tried to say it in the dream, tried and failed, to tired to speak, broken.
Out in the real world, tears began to slip down his face, another distressed sound escaping.]