Avin woke with a start. His hand shot instinctively to his sword, gripping the hilt so tightly his knuckles whitened.
A high-pitched ring drilled into his ears — not just sound, but pressure, like invisible needles. "Uh… feels like I just slept through two filler episodes," he groaned, wincing as he cupped one ear.
He blinked blearily and ran a hand through his hair. Dust rained down — tiny particles, dead leaves, even some brittle insect husks that cracked between his fingers. His once-brown boots were caked in a second skin of mud. His camo gear had turned a grimy, wet red, dark with dried blood and fluids he didn't dare identify.
"I'm a mess," he muttered, voice hoarse. He stood slowly, joints popping like breaking twigs, and stretched his arms until his spine cracked in relief. "I should look for somewhere to get clean…"
He turned to leave the cave but froze just before stepping out.
