Zich walked out of the portal and immediately heard a cry of alarm.
The plaza was even more crowded than when he had entered. Those who had been staring at the black stone monument all turned their heads, and the clamor died down the moment they saw him clearly.
Half his clothes were soaked through with blood, his shoulder sagged, and the hand gripping the Frostgrave Scythe was trembling. The light of the teleportation had not yet faded when he stopped at the gate, as though trying to get his bearings.
In truth, his legs simply couldn't hold him up much longer.
"Zich!"
Helen was the first to rush over.
Before he could speak, she had caught him by the arm. Zich instinctively tried to straighten up, but the movement in his shoulder made him suck in a sharp breath.
Helen softened her grip, circled to his other side, and let him lean against her.
"Don't move."
She glanced down at her palm. She had only steadied him once, and her hand was already covered in blood.
"Father!"
