The inn was too warm. The kind of thick heat that clung to the skin and made the breath sit heavy in the chest.
Lindarion sat upright in bed, back to the wall. The blanket was pooled around his waist. The cot creaked with every breath.
He hadn't slept.
His eyes stayed half-open, unfocused. But the tension never left his shoulders. Not even when the candle by the door burned low, flickering in the quiet.
Then—
A pulse.
Not sound.
Not motion.
Mana.
Low, wide, trained.
Not the wild leak of someone flaring out by accident.
No. This was intentional. Controlled. Moving through the room like a wave of pressure.
A new presence.
His eyes sharpened at once.
Then something else clicked into place.
A thin line of cold drifted across the back of his neck. Not wind. Not weather.
[Core Status – Minor Recovery Detected]
The words appeared in his mind, still and silent. Not spoken. Not written. Just known.
His posture eased slightly.
'It's healing… Finally.'
