'How bitter…' raising one hand toward the sky, covering the reach of a faint emerald light, limb wavering from side to side, fingers twitching, golden intertwining with the gem-like glow, drowsy and confused…
With snap, all came back to memory, rising upper body, Milo found himself in a sitting position, surrounded by the bandaged and broken form of his allies, he himself felt invigorated, tearing the strips of white doused in healing concoctions, he found his grievous, mortal injuries to be all completely gone.
He looked around, believing himself to still be on the battlefield for a split moment, expecting the dreadful form of Loimos to be standing just mere steps away, but he was only greeted by a calming sight, without realising, he moved.
