Kael's eyelids fluttered open to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of medical machinery. The room smelled of sterile cleaners and faint iodine, a hospital ward if he'd ever seen one. His body ached like it'd been dragged through a thorn field, ribs protesting with every shallow breath. Before he could fully orient himself, hurried footsteps approached, and a woman in a crisp white coat bustled over, her blue glasses slipping slightly down her nose as she adjusted them with a practiced flick. She was slender, almost fragile-looking, but her eyes sparkled with that intense, bookish curiosity he'd seen in scholars buried in tomes.
"Oh! You're awake; faster than I anticipated, given the extent of your contusions and mana depletion," she said, her voice high-pitched and squeaky, like an enthusiastic lecturer squeezed into a tiny frame. She clasped a clipboard to her chest like a shield, her free hand hovering near his IV line as if ready to fuss over it. "I'm Dr. Elara Voss, and you're in Mandalo General Hospital, east wing recovery. We pulled you in from that wagon; nasty business with the poison exposure and fractures. Your vitals are stabilizing, but honestly, with the lactic acid buildup and potential for secondary infection, you should be flat on your back for at least another twelve hours. Bed rest is non-negotiable; it's science, not suggestion!"
Kael blinked, trying to process her rapid-fire words. "Where's Uzi? The kid-"
"He's in the adjacent room, under observation," she interrupted gently, her tone softening as she placed a caring hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly in reassurance. "Stable, breathing evenly, no signs of septic shock yet. I personally adjusted his saline drip to include a custom electrolyte mix; fascinating case, really, with that anomalous energy residue. But you, sir, are exhibiting classic signs of post-traumatic exertion syndrome. Lie back down, please. I insist."
He ignored her, swinging his legs over the bed's edge despite the sharp twinge in his side. "I need to move. Check on him myself."
Dr. Voss's eyes widened behind her glasses, and she stepped in front of him, arms crossed stubbornly over her clipboard. "Absolutely not! Do you have any idea how delicate your intercostal muscles are right now? One wrong twist, and we're talking pneumothorax; collapsed lung! I've read case studies on mana-drained patients like you; pushing limits leads to relapse in eighty-seven percent of documented instances. I care about your recovery, truly I do; I've been monitoring your charts all night, cross-referencing with the latest journals from the Cascade Medical Archives. But if you stand up now, you're undermining everything!" Her squeaky voice rose in pitch, laced with genuine worry, but her stance was unyielding, like a fortress of facts and figures.
Kael grunted, gripping the bed rail for support. "Appreciate the concern, Doc, but I've walked off worse." He pushed himself upright, the room spinning briefly as blood rushed to his head.
She huffed, adjusting her glasses again with a nerdy precision, muttering under her breath about "stubborn adventurers and their disregard for empirical evidence." They went back and forth for a full minute; her citing statistics on recovery times and the biochemical risks of premature ambulation, him countering with gruff dismissals about time being short and debts unpaid. She even pulled out a pocket reference guide from her coat, flipping to a dog-eared page on fracture healing to emphasize her point, her caring eyes pleading while her words built an impenetrable wall of logic.
Finally, with a frustrated sigh, Dr. Voss threw up her hands. "Fine! But if you exacerbate that hematoma, don't say I didn't warn you. And here" She thrust a crutch at him from the corner rack, her stubbornness giving way just enough to show her underlying compassion. "At least use this. I won't have you collapsing on my watch."
Kael took it, leaning heavily as he limped toward the window. The crutch thumped softly on the tiled floor, each step a small victory against the pain. He pulled back the curtain, sunlight streaming in to warm his face. For a moment, he just stared, his breath catching in quiet awe.
"It's... beautiful out there," he murmured, voice low with unexpected reverence.
Behind him, Dr. Voss's stubborn frown melted into a warm smile, her nerdy enthusiasm bubbling up. "Isn't it? Mandalo's got that perfect blend of coastal geography and architectural harmony; did you know the light refraction off the sea enhances color perception by up to fifteen percent? It's why everything feels so vivid." She adjusted her glasses once more, her caring nature shining through as she watched him, glad for the brief moment of peace amid the chaos.
Kael nodded absently, then turned away from the window. With a determined limp, he made his way to the door, crutch steadying him. Dr. Voss hovered nearby, ready to catch him if he faltered, but he waved her off gently. "I'll be fine. Thanks... for everything."
She sighed, but her smile lingered. "Just promise you'll come back if it worsens. Science demands follow-ups!"
He pushed through the door into the hallway, the sterile air giving way to a fresher breeze as he reached the exit. Outside, the sun hung high, casting sharp shadows on the cobblestone path. Almost immediately, his gaze landed on the post office across the way; a modest single-story building, its white walls pristine and accented with bold blue lines framing the two windows on either side of the weathered door. The roof blazed a vibrant orange, standing out like a beacon against the muted tones of the surrounding structures; anywhere else, it might have clashed, but here it felt oddly fitting, a splash of defiance in the orderly town.
Kael paused, drawing in a deep breath of the salt-tanged air, letting it fill his lungs and chase away the last fog of the hospital. Then, with the crutch tucked under his arm, he started toward it, each step measured but resolute.