One of the paladins, a younger one with a fresh face and wide, hopeful eyes, approached Corven first. Without hesitation, he clapped him on the back, full of enthusiasm.
"You did great!"
It was meant as praise—for saving their lady, for surviving the massacre—but in his excitement, he forgot one small, painful detail: his gauntlets were silver.
The moment it made contact, Corven hissed, his skin sizzling under the touch.
"Ah—shit—!"
"Oh… I'm sorry!" the young paladin stammered, pulling his hand back in horror. The smell of burnt flesh lingered briefly in the air. The poor kid had no clue his well-meaning gesture had just added another layer of agony to an already broken man.
"Enough of that, Howard," the captain said sharply. His voice was calm, but carried a distinct tone of command that shut the younger one up immediately. "Go bring him some blood. And move quickly."
