"My lord, are you sure you're alright like this?"
"I am."
Azriel replied curtly. Mio looked at him with concern in her eyes. Dressed in the warm military garments of the Crimson Clan, with a black-furred coat draped over his shoulders, Azriel felt a little warmer—just a little. Oddly enough, his body kept growing colder with every passing second, yet the heat within his mana core only continued to rise.
He leaned on a wooden cane—one that belonged to Mio. She no longer used it; apparently, she'd only ever carried it because she liked the feel. Azriel had accepted it without complaint. With one eye gone, his body hadn't fully adapted yet. His balance was off, and his legs still felt slightly numb.
Mio gave him one last worried glance—one that only made him feel more awkward than comforted—before turning and stepping outside the cabin. Azriel followed.
