It took all of Saerin's focus to drown out the voices of the spirits as they pounded against his consciousness. The adrenaline brought from running helped only slightly as he made his way through the streets, dimly aware of the people he passed. Eventually his flagging stamina became an advantage as he reached a steady rhythm in his gait, his mind focusing on only one thing: escape. He locked his gaze on that singular thought and allowed it to drift only to the movement of his feet as he dodged through foot traffic. As long as he kept moving, that would be his armor.
He reached the inn, ignoring the concerned look of the innkeeper as he pushed through towards their room. He swiftly pulled out his room key, and after a few moments of difficulty locating the keyhole he threw the door open and moved in. His mind barely touched on the two figures in the room as he, catching himself, managed to not slam but firmly close the door. He then slid to the ground, back against the rough wood of the door, as the exertion caught up to him. The mental claws of his spiritual associates, by now, had retreated a distance, circling with hackles raised like a wolf ready to pounce. They knew that he was weaker than normal, and if they struck again while he wasn't on guard he may not be able to stop their advances. His right hand raised to his temple to steady his mind, he took a moment to examine his surroundings.
Mira appeared to be alright, probably about exhausted as he was from the way she had fallen on her bed. Well, perhaps not as much... while he kept up his training, it had been some time since he had run quite that much. Her breathing was heavy, but his own was very labored and rasped deeply with each inhale. Appearance wise she was dirty, but about as much as one could expect from a tournament champion. Given a brief time to recover she would likely be back to "normal."
Zhyle, though, seemed another story. He had watched over the boy before to make sure he didn't die, but he hadn't gotten a close look at his injuries. A few sword pricks at his shoulders, arms, legs... spots commonly left exposed by novice sword wielders. Whoever had dealt those blows seemed to have been wanting to play with him before finishing him off. That gouge on the left arm, on the other hand... maybe not inherently lethal, but definitely the first stroke of the attack meant to finish him off. Assuming it was the same person who had dealt the other wounds, they likely meant to disarm him and close in as Zhyle's desperation and fear rose. They had underestimated him, though, and his cleverness allowed him to escape with his life.
Saerin himself was not looking much better. While there most of the blood on his robes were those of others, he had sustained several lesser wounds (as well as a light cut on his neck) that would take time to heal. His powers had taken the brunt of the attack, though... if he allowed himself to use any of the abilities that might help them, he would be opening himself up to the spirits and allowing them a point to attack. Until his mind had time to settle from his earlier possession that was something he could not allow.
He brought his legs in to a folded position, despite their protests. He didn't get this far to be stopped by something like fatigue. He held them there for a moment before rising. "I will ask the innkeeper for a wash basin and some clean cloth. After we've all cleaned up, we need to talk."