Soon, Kael was moving—clutching his ribs.
"Fuck," he muttered. "Now it hurts like hell."
Yue hovered beside him, arms crossed in the air.
"You really need a healing spell."
"Yeah," Kael grunted, staggering forward.
His destination loomed ahead: his so-called "free hospital."
Once a forgotten, half-collapsed church, it now stood in decent shape—clearly restored with his gold.
The stone was still cold and ancient, but the cracks were filled, the doors no longer falling from their hinges.
With a quiet breath, Kael drew the mask over his face and slipped into the shadows of the old church.
Inside, shadows ruled.
The faint scent of incense and age lingered in the dark. He moved slowly through the quiet nave until he saw her.
Saintess Nyra, robed in silver and black, knelt before the altar, hands clasped, head bowed.
The icon of the Night Goddess loomed above her, its carved eyes watching with eternal silence.
Kael waited.
