The morning air in the village was crisp and carried the smell of wet pine and woodsmoke.
A full day had passed since the ravine, and my body was finally starting to feel like mine again. Yesterday had been a blur of pain and exhaustion until Marta stepped in.
Roran had been ready to drag me back to the dirt the moment I could limp, but Marta shut him down with one sharp look. She did not yell. She did not argue. She just looked at him, and Roran, the man who had just killed a Grade 5 monster with four moves, actually took a step back.
I respected that woman more than anyone.
She spent hours healing my ribs and shoulder. Her hands glowed with that soft, warm light, and I could feel the torn muscles knitting themselves back together. It was not perfect.
Every deep breath still reminded me of the Grave-Steel Behemoth and the way its weight had pressed down on my chest. But I was functional. I could walk. I could hold a sword. That was enough.
