"My… arm…"
Draksis's words trembled as he stared at his charred hand. The feeling of being able to see his arm but not feel it was… terrifying.
Unable to believe what was happening to him, he forced his left hand to lift the ruined right, and once in the air, he let it go, hoping that he would be able to feel his arm and stop it from falling on the bed.
But…
It didn't go as he expected.
His right arm fell on the bed with a light thud. There was no pain, or any other feeling. It didn't resist. It simply dangled uselessly, looking like a grotesque shadow of what it once was.
The only thing Draksis's action did was open up the 'wounds' Korvath had closed, making the smell of old char and cooked flesh spread in the room.
"N-No…"
Draksis whispered, his eyes widened in horror.
In an instant, memories of decades he had spent inside the Forge appeared in his head—the forge's heat, the weight of a hammer, the ringing of steel.
His entire life…
