There's another one of those inarticulate sounds as Phalanx attempts to answer before they really can, but it at least lets Vincent know that they're going to try.

It takes time. They continue to slowly calm down, they rearrange where they're folded up enough to be able to speak into open air. They even manage to wipe off their face a little bit. And when they do eventually try again, actual words are formed.

Voice all rough and exhausted, Phalanx manages to start, "There was--" but they immediately trail off into a hanging silence while they either search for words to finish the statement with, or get overwhelmed with the large idea that they need to fit into a small thought. Either way, when they finally continue, they skip past that sticking point entirely. "--And then, it was all gone."

The heartbreak with which the words are said is that same kind of vague, familiar anguish behind their tears. Fathers losing children. Families losing homes. Ancient things waking up to a nameless terror.