Ethan's consciousness returned slowly, like surfacing from deep, black water.
The first thing he felt was softness—warm, yielding pressure against both sides of his body. Something heavy and plush pressed into arms. His head throbbed dully, but the pain felt distant, muted by the overwhelming sensation of being… held.
He opened his eyes.
Unfamiliar ceiling—white panels, soft mana-lamps glowing faintly along the edges. The scent of healing salve, antiseptic, and something sweeter—lavender?—filled his nose.
Infirmary.
It all came back in fragments: the vines, the thorns, Flora's mocking voice, the darkness swallowing him, Mee's voice calling him back, the black marks burning across his skin, the kiss in front of the entire colosseum.
His right hand twitched.
He lifted it—slowly—turning it over.
The black markings were still there.
