The healer arrived as soon as Elias got to room.
He was seated on the edge of his narrow bed, boots on, spine carefully straight, when the knock came—once, measured, polite in a way that left no room for refusal.
"Elias Thornbloom," a voice called. "I'm here by the order of His Majesty, the King."
Mina stiffened from where she stood near the window.
Elias rose. Slowly. He made a point of not looking at his hands.
The Royal Healer entered with a pair of Academy officials flanking him, white robes marked with the royal crest that caught the light even in the dim room. He was older, grey at the temples, his magic coiled tight and quiet beneath his skin in the way of someone who had learned discipline the hard way.
"Student collapsed during convocation," the healer said mildly. His gaze flicked over Elias—face, posture, breath. "His Majesty has requested confirmation that no lasting harm was done."
"I'm fine," Elias said.
