CHAPTER 207
Argon and Gandolf stood rigidly at the foot of the bed as Livius—the healer they had called—moved toward Ezekiel with quiet precision.
Livius looked young, almost their age, but his reputation among the wolves placed him among the finest. His long black hair was tied neatly into a low ponytail, revealing a gentle face framed by a soft jawline. A straight, narrow nose, thin lips, and calm blue eyes gave him a serene, almost ethereal presence. He wore a long blue healer's robe, the old-world kind that draped over his form like flowing water.
Setting his wooden medicine box beside the bed, Livius pressed his fingers to Ezekiel's neck. He didn't rely on supernatural senses—true healing and real diagnosis demanded physical touch.
After a moment, his calm expression shifted ever so slightly.
He then reached for a small pair of shears.
