It was silent in the collapsed chasms of the Dark Castle. The smell of blood, debris, and an endless, suffocating darkness engulfed the air, thick and metallic, clinging to every breath like an unseen predator.
In that darkness was Oliver, lying against the cold, cracked surface of the hall's wall. At the moment, he seemed to be out cold, his body barely moving, chest rising only faintly as though even breathing had become a burden.
And then… it slowly returned to him.
His mind. His control.
Oliver groaned, opening his eyes weakly, the pain from his earlier battles still taking a brutal toll on him. It wasn't just pain, it was exhaustion carved into his bones, a deep, dragging fatigue that threatened to pull him back into the abyss.
He was tired.
Even more than that, he felt close to the edge, as though he was about to die.
Or already dead.
