Dust rolled like fog across the ruined land.
At the center of the crater, something moved.
Stone cracked as Kael pushed himself upright, one clawed hand digging into shattered earth. Golden blood dripped steadily from his chest, splashing against rocks in slow, heavy drops.
His breath came uneven—ragged—but his eyes were clear.
He looked down.
The wound carved by the man's sword still burned like a nest of needles, hostile mana writhing inside it, rejecting every attempt at regeneration.
But lower—
Along his ribs.
Across his limbs.
He noticed something else.
The injuries from the fall—the crushed scales, fractured bone beneath—were healing.
Slowly. Naturally. Cleanly.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
'…So her damage heals,' he realized. 'Only his intent anchors.'
That alone was valuable.
Then—
He froze.
His gaze sharpened, focusing not on the wound but on his own body.
Tiny flashes of light flickered across his scales.
'Magic circles.'
Small. Intricate. Layered.
