"It was not much." Not in the scheme of things, and compared to what he is truly capable of. The power of a god resides within his mortal body, and here is, brought to his knees by the weakness of his own heart and mind. A woefully flawed vessel.

But Rokuro isn't allowed to break. Not here, not now. However badly he falls apart, he must pull himself back together again. Whatever it takes. To die of a broken spirit (or is it a broken heart?) and waste the sacred gifts entrusted to him would be the greatest betrayal of all.

He sinks forward, prostrating himself, forehead touching the cool grass, silently praying for the gods, spirits, and energies of this world to give him strength before pulling himself upright. Yes, a tear streaks down his cheek, perhaps more than one, but he is conscious and he is present.

The expression with which Rokuro turns to Kylo, his temporary leader in this assault, is at once painfully fragile and wholly resolved. "What must we do to end this?"