Nyxtriel carried Daemon on her back, carefully following Samuel down the ruined path that once led through a proud kingdom.
"Where are we going?" she asked, glancing at the shattered buildings behind them.
"Where else?" Samuel replied without turning. "To my place."
They walked for a while, leaving behind the city's wreckage until they reached a small hill on the edge of a graveyard. At its peak stood a modest two-story white house, weathered by time.
Nyxtriel narrowed her eyes. "I sense divine energy."
"Well, no surprise there." Samuel smirked. "I am a priest. Don't worry—it's not the type that'll fry you. You'll survive. Barely."
He pointed toward the doorway. "Take him inside."
Nyxtriel didn't argue. She stepped through the front of the house—it was simple and quiet, with barely any furniture. She carried Daemon upstairs, entering a plain room where an old bed and some healing tools were scattered around. She gently laid him down.
