Next morning.
The dawn had given way to a serene, almost dreamlike day. The sun, perched high in the sky, bathed the world below in golden warmth. Shafts of light spilled through the swaying canopy of tall trees, each ray soft as silk, each shadow dancing to the rhythm of the wind.
Above, mountain dewbirds glided across the sky in elegant arcs. Their crystalline wings caught the sunlight just right—prisms in motion, refracting the rays into shimmering rainbows. From a distance, it looked as if the birds were riding strands of living light, leaping from one treetop to the next on arched trails of color.
"Fascinating," Darius muttered, his voice low and flat. He turned his head away from the picturesque sight, unable to appreciate its beauty for long.
His body had recovered overnight—muscles no longer screamed, bones no longer throbbed. On the surface, he looked whole.
But inside… he was anything but healed.
