The first thing Vane felt was the hum. It was a low, subsonic vibration that seemed to originate from the very air, a rhythmic pulse that signaled the presence of high-grade mana-recovery systems. He did not open his eyes immediately. He lay still, cataloging the state of his body. The agonizing, bone-deep friction of the Perfect Copy had been replaced by a strange, gelatinous numbness. His mana-channels, which had felt like frayed wires in the Cathedral, were now cool and saturated with a thick, medicinal energy.
He was floating. The sensation of weightlessness told him he was submerged in a recovery tank, a luxury reserved for the highest tier of the academy's injured. The liquid was warm, smelling of crushed lotus and refined mana-crystals. It was a far cry from the muddy ditches of Oakhaven where he had once nursed a broken arm for three weeks. Here, in the heart of Zenith Academy, even recovery was an industrial process designed for the elite.
