When my eyelids lifted, my muscles screamed at me. Every fiber burned as if I'd slept on an anvil. My duel with Garrum had left me in pieces, but… I was still alive.
That alone felt like a luxury—just sore instead of shredded to bits.
I stretched, my back cracking like a warped beam. A few push-ups, two sets of squats. Nothing special, but my body held up better than before. Less trembling, more control. Or maybe I'd just become dumb enough to find comfort in pain.
I sat cross-legged on the floor. Silence. I inhaled from the belly, deep, down to the ribs. Mana flowed in—golden dust clinging to my skin, warm threads curling around my lungs, then rolling into my veins. On the exhale, I guided it. Toward the bruised shoulder, the aching side, the stiff wrist. The filaments heated, smoothed out the knots, calmed the trembling. One minute, two… enough for the pain to become bearable and for my head to clear.
