Air! Air!
Atlas's eyes flew open as he shot upright, panic ripping through him. His hands trembled as he pounded his own chest, wide, frantic eyes darting in every direction.
He couldn't breathe.
His face was drained of color. He didn't know how to breathe, as if his body had somehow forgotten the most basic instinct of life.
Air. He needed air.
His vision blurred as he scanned his surroundings. A dimly lit tent, silent and empty except for him. No memory of how he had gotten there. No idea of what had happened.
He needed to breathe!
Summoning what little strength remained in him, he rasped, "Ed…"
The tent flap whipped open. A figure rushed in.
Edrik.
He dropped to his knees beside Atlas, gripping his shoulders. "My Lord, calm down! Breathe. Just breathe!" he urged.
Atlas clawed at his throat, his chest seizing as he fought for air. Nothing came.
His skin was turning to ice. His face, ghost-pale. His hands pressed over his mouth, gasping, pleading. But still no relief.
