Gabriel lowered the blade and rested it across his knees.
Armour was out of reach. Proper steel even more so. All he had was a dull sword, a worn cloak, and maybe something waiting in the cliffs.
He lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of the inn settling for the night.
Morning would decide it.
Sleep pulled at him, but Gabriel ignored it.
He sat on the floor instead, legs crossed, back straight, and slowed his breathing until the ache in his body dulled into something manageable. The familiar warmth stirred in his chest as the crimson fog responded, present but contained.
He let a measured amount slip free.
It gathered around his fingers in thin strands, faint and controlled, never spilling beyond what he allowed. He guided it to the sword, letting it settle along the hilt before easing it across the blade.
The metal answered with a low vibration, subtle enough to feel rather than hear, the edge tightening under the pressure.
