The door to their chambers swung open, and Kaelen stepped through.
He was still covered in the residue of the sea, dust and shadow and the faint luminescence of mycelium that clung to his skin like powdered stars, flickering with residual magic that would take hours to fade. His boots left faintly glowing impressions on the stone floor. His clothes were torn in a dozen places, the fabric hanging in shreds over the network-healed skin beneath. His body ached with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion that no amount of magic could fully erase. The network had done its work, knitting flesh and sealing wounds, but it couldn't touch what lay beneath the surface, the weight of what he had seen, what he had endured, what he had nearly lost.
