The world came back to Ren in pieces.
First, there was the feeling of air; crisp, cool, and clean, laced with the faint scent of enchanted herbs and faintly humming devices.
Then came the sterile white of smooth walls, glowing softly with embedded runes, and the distant whirring of magical orbs.
His eyes blinked open, dry and slow, and he stared at the ceiling of the infirmary, so shiny and spotless that he could faintly see his own pale face reflected in it.
He was… alive.
He wasn't sure how that had happened, but the moment he tried to shift in the bed and didn't immediately start convulsing or screaming in soul-shredding agony, he knew something had changed.
For the better.
The soul seizure, the thing that had almost ripped him apart from the inside out wasn't just weakening. It was fading.
Like a venom that had lost its grip. Like a nightmare that couldn't hold onto him anymore.
