"Lastly," said the voice, as deep as thunder beneath water. "You woke up… Zepherwind?"
The phrase rolled through the darkness of the cave. Kairen blinked hard, sight still lingering in green illumination. The man standing next to him was a tall blur initially — robes of mist, hair of white and indigo. The air around the man rippled with a faint shimmer, the stones themselves humming to the beat of his breathing.
Kairen attempted to sit up. Pain pierced his chest. He collapsed backward with a hiss.
"Still impatient," the stranger whispered, crouching beside him. His hand, which was warm and calloused, lay lightly across Kairen's ribs. "Be quiet. The wound remembers more than the blade."
A soft golden light leaked from his palm. The pain receded. Kairen could breathe. He gazed up at the man's face — creased, weathered, and yet oddly vibrant, as though sculpted by centuries of laughter and loss.
"Who… are you?" Kairen struggled.
