Xion had nearly died from the poison.
Somewhere between the ache and the relief, he'd found a strange sort of peace.
A stillness that only came after one had stared death in the face so many times that it stopped being frightening.
Because it really wasn't the first time he had died.
Considering the life when he came to Eldorai for fun, and then his life back on modern earth, this was his third life.
So, when the healers told him he couldn't be treated through ordinary means as his body still rejected others' mana, he hadn't reacted much.
There was no need when Darius continued to wrap him in a cocoon of his own mana. A warm embrace that followed him like a second skin.
Hence, Xion had become more reckless. More spoiled. More whiny.
One moment, he complained that it was too hot. The next, he was shivering from the faintest breeze that slipped through the curtains.
But Darius never scolded him. Not once did the Archduke raise his voice or show irritation.
