Darkness came first.
Not sudden. Not violent.
It crept in gently, like nightfall over a wounded land.
Daemian drifted somewhere between thought and nothingness, where pain dulled into a distant echo and sound became muffled, as if heard through deep water. His body felt weightless, yet unbearably heavy at the same time.
Then...
Warmth.
A faint pulse wrapped around him, steady and persistent. Magic. He didn't see it, but he felt it, threads of energy stitching him back together, holding his shattered strength in place so it wouldn't slip away.
Voices floated near him.
Muffled. Worried.
"…the bleeding has stopped…"
"…he pushed himself far beyond his limit…"
"…thank the gods…"
A woman's voice trembled.
"Please… stay with us."
His mother.
That realization anchored him.
Daemian tried to move.
Pain answered.
It flared through his chest, his ribs, his lungs; sharp enough to drag him upward, forcing his consciousness to the surface. His fingers twitched. His breath hitched.
Air rushed into his lungs violently, as if his body had forgotten how to breathe and was relearning in desperation.
He gasped.
His eyes flew open.
Light stabbed into him; not the harsh glare of the arena sun, but something softer. Candlelight. Dozens of them. Their flames wavered gently, casting golden shadows across white stone walls.
He was lying on a bed.
A real one.
Silk sheets. Clean. Warm.
His chest rose and fell unevenly, every breath burning like fire dragged through his lungs. He tried to sit up.
A firm hand stopped him.
"Don't."
The Queen stood beside the bed, her face pale, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. One hand pressed lightly against his shoulder, grounding him.
"You're safe," she said softly. "Don't move."
Daemian swallowed. His throat felt dry; raw.
"…the arena?" he rasped.
"You won," she replied, her voice catching despite herself. "But you nearly paid for it with your life."
His gaze shifted.
The King stood near the window, arms crossed tightly behind his back. He wasn't wearing his crown. The proud posture he always carried was gone, replaced by something heavier; something quieter.
Relief flickered in the King's eyes when Daemian stirred.
"Stubborn," the King said, though his voice lacked its usual steel. "You've always been."
Daemian tried to smile.
It came out crooked.
"Did… I make you proud?"
The King looked away for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice was low.
"You frightened me."
That answer said everything.
Daemian exhaled slowly, letting his head sink back into the pillow. Every muscle screamed, but the pain no longer felt like defeat. It felt earned.
The door opened softly.
Footsteps; hesitant, uneven.
Leah.
She stopped just inside the room.
Her armor was gone. She wore a simple dress now, pale and unadorned, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes were red. Her hands trembled at her sides, unsure whether she was allowed to be here.
Daemian turned his head toward her.
Their eyes met.
She froze.
Then she crossed the room in a rush and dropped to her knees beside the bed, gripping the edge of the mattress as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
"You idiot," she whispered, voice breaking. "Absolute… reckless idiot."
Daemian smiled faintly.
"Still alive though."
Tears spilled before she could stop them. She pressed her forehead against the mattress, shoulders shaking.
"I thought I lost you," she said. "I thought… it was my fault."
His fingers moved slowly, weakly; until they found her hand.
He squeezed.
Barely.
But it was enough.
"You fought me fair," he said quietly. "And you were strong. Stronger than you think."
She looked up at him then, eyes shining.
"I didn't want today to be about me," she said. "They said it was your day. Everyone said it."
Daemian's expression softened.
"And it was," he replied. "But that doesn't mean you don't belong in the light too."
Silence settled between them; not empty, but full.
The Queen watched from a distance, her hand pressed lightly to her chest. The King turned back toward the window, giving them privacy he pretended not to notice.
Daemian's eyelids grew heavy again.
Exhaustion claimed him slowly this time, not like before.
As sleep pulled him under, he felt Leah's hand still holding his.
Still there.
Still real.
Outside, beyond stone walls and quiet halls, the kingdom whispered his name.
But inside the chamber, between breath and dawn, the prince finally rested.