Byung's eyes fluttered open to the dim glow of the morning sun slipping through the cracks of his chamber door. His body felt heavy, like it had been weighted down with iron chains during his sleep. The room was quiet, the air stale with the scent of damp stone and bandages he was yet to throw away. He sat up slowly, wincing as his muscles protested—the evolution had remade him, but the bruises from Kraghul's fists lingered as it didn't heal the wounds during the evolution, his body still had to go through its natural healing state.
How long had he been out? The migraine from before had faded, but his head still throbbed with a dull echo. A soft knock echoed from the door. Byung wondered who it could be or if he should answer it all.
"Byung? You awake? It's Borkle. Good time to talk?" The voice slipped through the door.
Byung rubbed his eyes, swinging his legs over the bed's edge. His feet hit the cold floor with a thud, sending a jolt up his spine.
