"The wyrm? The battle?" Damon woke up with a start, his voice hoarse. His eyes shot open, slits of red-gold, burning faintly even in the dark.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. The air smelled faintly of moss, wet stone, and soil. A ceiling of dark, jagged stone loomed above him. He was definitely not in the scorched and ruined city anymore.
He tried to sit up but groaned as his body screamed in protest. Every muscle felt like it had been torn apart and restitched with fire. His skin still bore molten vein-like cracks, glowing softly under the surface. His fingers trembled. His body shivered. It was as if he were completely drained and exhausted without a single bit of energy left.
A rustle nearby drew his gaze. Ghost leaned casually against the cavern wall, one knee drawn up, arms crossed. "You're alive," he said dryly. "Your health is at fucking one dude. How the hell are you alive? I was pretty damn sure you would die in the next couple of hours."
