The air... it was different.
It was no longer the metallic, copper stench of blood rising from the scorched earth of Lamping. It was no longer the acrid smell of ozone and the dying rust of the Silver Thorn blade. The aroma that filtered into Dayat's senses was a complex, soothing symphony—a blend of fresh wild orchids and the clean, synthetic sweetness of Orchid-Ether, designed specifically to stabilize shattered nerves.
Dayat opened his eyes with a slow, heavy effort. The ceiling above him wasn't the dull, rot-infested wood of a village hut or the damp, weeping stones of a cave. He stared up at a vaulted ceiling ten meters high, etched with glowing indigo geometric circuits. The light pulsed with a rhythmic, low-frequency hum that seemed to synchronize perfectly with his own heartbeat, which now felt stronger and steadier than it had in years.
"Ugh..." Dayat groaned, attempting to shift his weight.
