"Remind me why I didn't just become a baker? Bread doesn't talk back. And it certainly isn't this ungrateful."
By the time the last lantern started flickering like it was about to give up on life, the medical tent stopped feeling like a safe place and started feeling… suspiciously pre-coffin energy. Outside, the night had gone full nightmare mode, wrapping the camp in a suffocating darkness that made the tent walls feel about as reassuring as wet paper.
Cherion sat on a low stool, back aching like he'd aged thirty years in a single evening. He stared at his hands, still stained, still faintly shaking, still buzzing with leftover mana like he'd grabbed a live wire and decided, yeah, this is fine.
He wished the darkness would just stay quiet. Most of all, he wished that somewhere out there in the freezing void, Zarius had already finished the job.
