Morning light fell from above onto the pale face of Second Imperial Prince Kalien.
He sat bare-chested in a stone chair. The contours of his shoulders and chest were still sharp, but seemed veiled in deathly gray.
The bandages on his left side had been removed, revealing a freshly sutured scar running along the severed shoulder.
His battle aura circulated in fits and starts, like a broken bellows that could produce only a ragged wheeze, unable to muster any strength.
The physician knelt beside him, fingertips resting on his pulse, as carefully as if protecting an unsteady ember.
"Your Highness," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "you're recovering well... at least, far better than we initially feared."
Yet those words of comfort only deepened Kalien's frown.
For an ordinary person, that truly was a good recovery, enough to keep living and working without impediment.
But for a knight whose life was his sword and battle aura, anything short of a return to his peak meant losing half his life.
Kalien neither answered nor changed his expression, but his eyes were filled with coldness.
Only after a long silence did he speak, his voice hoarse. "...What is the First Prince's condition now?"
The physician visibly hesitated before answering. "The Regent King took the Ochreleaf Essence Fruit, and his spirits have improved considerably. He can at least... at least make it through tomorrow's conference."
Kalien nodded heavily, as though barely holding down some deeper emotion.
But there was no relief in his eyes, only an ever-spreading shadow.
"Leave," Kalien said quietly.
The physician hurriedly bowed and left, closing the door behind him.
Not three breaths passed in the silence before Kalien's breathing changed noticeably.
First it quickened, then grew harsh, as though a suppressed beast were stirring inside his chest,