The climb out of that hollowed-out grave felt like dragging their souls through knee-deep sludge.
The physical exertion was nothing compared to the psychic weight of the secrets that had been unearthed in the dark.
Seijirou hauled himself over the jagged lip of the concrete, his muscles straining as he reached back down into the abyss and gripped Rindou's hand, her palm was cold and clammy, and pulled her up with a sharp, forceful tug.
The moment they reached the relatively "clean" air of the lobby, their strength evaporated as they both collapsed onto the soot-stained floor, limbs tangling in their exhaustion.
Rindou fell forward, her forehead resting against Seijirou's chest, her breathing coming in ragged, shuddering hitches.
Physically, they were fine; the spirit wasn't particularly strong, and they didn't exert themselves as hard as when they fought the elites of Saint Shinomiya.
But mentally, they were utterly exhausted.
