chest jolted. His eyes shot open to stone above him, black smoke curling faint against it. He dragged air into his lungs, half-expecting the wet rasp of blood, but it came smooth, clean. No pain tore through his ribs. No weakness seized his heart.
He blinked, disoriented. His hands lifted, brushing his chest. Smooth skin. Unbroken. His robe still carried stains, but the wounds beneath were gone, knitted with impossible precision.
[System Alert: Vital functions stabilized. Vessel integrity restored.]
'…What…?' His mind reeled. He had been broken, body collapsing under Maeven's strike. Nysha's shadows alone couldn't have mended that. Even now, the memory of his chest cracking still echoed in his bones.
"You are safe now,"the voice whispered again, warm, patient, like she had all the time in the world. "I will not allow harm to end you so easily, Master."
His breath caught. "Who…" His lips barely formed the word aloud, but the answer came within, not without.
