"His vitals are stabilizing."
Golden light filtered through the hospital windows. The healers' chants echoed through halls that reeked of antiseptic and charred flesh. Leon lay motionless in an enchanted bed, regenerative runes pulsing beneath blood-soaked bandages that wrapped his torso.
The upper district hospital was the only functioning medical hub left in Armathor after the attack. Everything else had been reduced to rubble and memory. Wounded hunters filled every available bed while healers worked around the clock to keep them breathing.
But even surrounded by the soft voices of medical staff and the warm glow of healing magic, Leon's mind was elsewhere.
He drifted into darkness.
The dream realm materialized around him like smoke taking shape. An endless expanse of shadow stretched in every direction. No ground beneath his feet. No sky above. No visible light source, yet somehow he could see his own hands, his own body standing in the void.
"Welcome, champion."
