Draven's eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself in a dimly lit room shrouded in darkness. The flickering light of the candles on the table cast eerie shadows on the walls, revealing the presence of spiderwebs that adorned the corners. The air felt heavy, as if infused with a sense of mystery and age.
Confusion washed over Draven as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The events leading up to his unconsciousness were hazy, like fragments of a shattered memory. He turned his gaze to Sarah, who stood beside the table, her face etched with concern.
"Where... Where am I?" Draven managed to croak, his voice hoarse and strained. A sharp pang shot through his hand, causing him to wince. He glanced down and noticed a rough bandage wrapped tightly around his broken arm.
Sarah approached, holding a bowl filled with mashed herbs, their scent permeating the air. She gently sat beside Draven, her touch soothing as she began applying the herbal mixture to his wounds.
