The Yellow Mage stirred in his bed.
He had grown accustomed to great pain, so the pain he was feeling right now, no matter how bad, was something he could deal with.
He tried touching his face to see if he still had his wrappings on, only to realize that his arm was missing.
The absence was difficult to assess. There was pain where the arm had been, though the pain did not correspond to anything currently attached to him.
This was inconvenient, but not unexpected.
He of course knew of phantom pain, but he had never supposed that he would fall victim to it, seeing that his lifestyle was usually so risk-free.
He turned his head.
The room was dim, but there was a welcome sight.
Vellichor, the Dread Mage, was sitting in a chair next to him, watching over his daughter, Sonder.
The shard-mask was in his hands.
Vellichor looked up immediately.
"You're awake," he said.
"It appears so," the Yellow Mage said, and sat up.
"How are you feeling?" Vellichor asked.
"Poorly."
Vellichor glanced at the empty space beneath the Yellow Mage's shoulder.
"I'm sorry about your arm."
"It was by my own making. You are not responsible for its absence. You need not be sorry."
"I still am, even if you think I don't have to be."
"What about your daughter?" the Yellow Mage asked as he looked toward the other bed in the room.
He was lying in his own bed, though he wasn't in his room.
The Dread Mage had moved it, which he didn't particularly care for.
"She's alive."
There was enough in his voice to let the Yellow Mage know that this wasn't an entirely good statement.
The Yellow Mage tried to stand up. The movement produced a sharp increase in pain.
Vellichor reached out to help him.
"I can manage," the Yellow Mage said.
The Yellow Mage examined the bandages around his shoulder. They were secure, though the blood had soaked through in several places.
The Dread Mage must have dressed this, he thought.
It wasn't bad, but the difference in their knowledge and skill in healing was evident.
He made no comment.
Vellichor wanted to help, and so he did.
The Yellow Mage looked past Vell toward Sonder. She lay beneath a blanket, very still.
"She used the mask's power," he said to Vellichor.
"I know."
"It was unwise."
"Did she know what it was?"
"I'm not sure. Not completely, either way. My memory of what it is, or who it belonged to, is obscured too. I know I am forgetting more about it each moment. Even now. I know I knew the owner's name in the past, but not anymore."
The Dread Mage had nothing to say, but his expression changed.
The Yellow Mage had never been good at deciphering the complexities behind such things.
He watched him carefully. His mind must have been focused on his daughter.
There was something else he wanted to know, and it seemed to be a good opportunity to pull the Dread Mage's mind away from his worries.
"You have tried to heal me, haven't you?"
"Of course. First thing I did when I saw you."
"Then why am I still missing my arm? Even if your knowledge of healing is lesser than mine, your power far exceeds mine. You could brute-force a regeneration."
"Clever observation. Most would just be happy not to have bled to death."
Vellichor readjusted himself in his seat.
"It's true. I should have had the power to. Should. But I don't. Every movement I make, every time I use my magics, even deep thought strains me. Everything is strained. Could just be a side effect from my slumber, or something else. I guess I should tell you about what I've been up to. Or what I still remember about it."