Morning arrived gently in the dwarven infirmary.
Not with noise.
Not with urgency.
Soft amber light filtered through the rune-veins embedded in the stone walls, their glow shifting subtly as the artificial dawn cycle began. Cool air drifted in through the narrow vents near the ceiling, carrying with it the faint scent of metal and distant forges just beginning to stir.
Luca woke up.
Not with pain this time—but with clarity.
His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling. Bandages tugged faintly at his skin when he breathed, a reminder of what his body had endured, but his mind felt… light. Refreshed. As if the weight he'd been carrying for days—no, longer than that—had finally eased.
He smiled to himself.
Then carefully, he pushed himself up into a seated position, moving slowly so as not to anger his still-healing body. The infirmary was quiet. Too quiet.
…Strange.
His gaze drifted to the chair beside his bed.
Empty.
