"We made it in time… please…!" Cecilia whispered. She forced the neck of a vial between Anton's bloodless lips. The Miracle Elixir, bought with rounds and rounds of gacha rolls the previous days.
"Father! Father-in-law, please—" she begged. She tipped the vial, watching the iridescent liquid trace a path down his frozen throat, then hauled his limp torso onto her lap, cradling the broken king against the winter.
Beside her, Arkai shifted back into his human form. His face furious, grim, gaze scanning the violated clearing. "Anton," he growled. He grasped the man's wrist with a deliberate, painful pressure, the kind of shock meant to jolt a soul back into its vessel. "Get a grip of yourself."
But the Miracle Elixir's work was sluggish, wrong. Instead of the near-instantaneous knitting of flesh and flood of vitality Cecilia was used to, it seemed to seep into Anton slowly, fighting against a deeper, stubborn corruption.
DING!
