Astron sat on the infirmary bed, his posture stiff yet deliberate, as the medics worked around him. The sterile scent of antiseptics and the faint hum of mana-infused medical equipment filled the air. His black hair clung to his forehead, damp from sweat and dried blood, but his purple eyes remained sharp, unyielding.
A medic—a middle-aged woman with steady hands and a calm demeanor—dabbed at the wounds on his face with a glowing cloth. Her brows furrowed slightly as she examined the gashes and bruises. "Your injuries have healed remarkably well," she said, her tone professional yet curious. "Did you take a potion before arriving here?"
"Yes," Astron replied curtly, his voice low but steady.
