Oliver groaned as consciousness crept back to him. Every muscle in his body ached — not sharp pain, but a deep soreness that felt like he'd wrestled a mountain in his sleep. His breath came slow and heavy as his mind clawed its way out of the fog.
He opened his eyes to the faint morning light spilling through the half-drawn curtains. The room smelled faintly of iron and herbs. On either side of him, Isolde and Serena were fast asleep — Isolde slumped gracefully against the headboard, arms folded, while Serena lay curled up near the foot of the bed, her hair messy, her apron still half on from the night before.
Oliver blinked, then smirked tiredly. "Heh… so much for not letting the sheets get stained."
The bedsheets were a mess — streaked with faint traces of dried blood and mana residue, the aftermath of last night's ritual. He stretched gingerly, wincing as a dull ache rippled across his back, and muttered, "Yup… definitely feels like I got mauled by something."
