His answer is expected, in some ways. How could it not be when they find themselves in a world so death-touched? But it is strangely comforting to hear him say it, to hear him give name to the weight. Less strange the comfort that comes when he touches the petals of the blossom, and they do not burn him.

Emilia lets the silence rest where it may. For what feels like a lifetime, she has been driven by a near-frightening need to right some terrible wrongs. But she also knows certain things are not meant to be rushed. He does not make his admission so that she may fix it, only that he found her ears willing.

That she cares for him and this group they have made, even when it would be smarter not to, to sit with it. With him.

Her chest rises with a lasting inhale. She has tended to the grief of her own deaths, largely by turning them into anger instead, with the understanding that loss in itself is so unremarkable.

"I don't know if the ache will ever cease, if it should. The truth we will find, one way or another." Whether they are prepared for it is another matter entirely. "If it is sleep you seek, I've a spell that may help."

Emilia would not hold it against him if he is not trusting of the method, so she does eventually add, "And if you do not wish it, we can at least remain sleepless in company."

Each other's company, and the light snoring of their dragons.