Klee held Kael seated with effort, her small, firm hands clutching his bloodied shoulder. With each breath he took, a hoarse groan escaped between his clenched teeth. The smell around them was suffocating: burnt flesh, damp wood, and earth soaked in old blood—as if the ground itself had begun to rot.
She tried to clean the cut on his back with a piece of her sleeve, but the fabric was already soaked.
"You're bleeding a lot..." she said, her voice bordering on panic. Her eyes, normally lively, now trembled with fear.
Kael slowly raised his eyes, panting. "It's not enough to stop me. Not yet."
His voice came out hoarse, as if he were swallowing ashes. He forced his body to stand up, leaning against a wall covered in dark moss. Every movement hurt as if the monster were still there, digging its claws into his flesh. The fog around him thickened with an unhealthy glow, as if the village itself were feverish, burning in a mystical delirium.
