The languid scent of death rose to Nero as his consciousness returned.
Was it death?
'No. That's not right...'
Herbs and medicine. The sharp, cutthroat scent of a strange herbal blend commonly used in the medical wing to disinfect wounds beneath the sweeter undertones of dried flowers and countless other smells.
There was an odd sense of familiarity around it all.
Nero knew where he was before he opened his eyes.
He lay still for a moment, letting awareness seep back into his body the way water seeps through dry ground.
Unhurried and slow, his body wasn't in any pain. It was his mind that possessed a deep, pervasive soreness.
There were very few things that could heal the mind, it seemed.
The dull splitting headache persevered still.
And yet, he was alive.
That fact still managed to surprise him sometimes.
His vision, when he finally convinced himself to open his eyes, came in blurred. The ceiling above him was familiar after all, just like he had thought.
