Three days after Dola finally opened her eyes, Castle Zero began to breathe with a different kind of life. Now, there were footsteps echoing through the corridors. The clatter of plates drifted from the kitchen. Faint laughter bubbled up from the rear courtyard.
But inside the Medical Room, time still moved with a leaden pace.
Dayat sat in the same chair, though his posture had shifted. He was no longer hunched with the jagged tension of three days ago. His shoulders were relaxed, his back resting against the frame, but his hand remained exactly where it had been: anchored to Dola's.
Dola lay on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. They were no longer glazed or distant; her focus had returned. Her breathing was rhythmic, and the ghostly pallor of her skin had begun to fade, even if she wasn't yet the picture of health.
"Master," she said, her voice soft but missing the rasp of the previous day. "You are still here."
"I'm still here."
"You still haven't bathed."
