Fwoosh
The shadows gathered again, moving like thick smoke, crawling and twisting over the cold, lifeless ground until they reached a single point and began to swirl faster.
Slowly, a shape started to form—bones, muscles, flesh, armor—all rebuilding, all restoring what had just been broken.
And then—
"HaaaahhhhhhhhHH!!"
Vexarion Aurendor gasped, his lungs pulling in the dead air once more.
At first, he didn't move, his eyes remained wide open, staring blankly at the dull, grey, deathly sky with his chest moving up and down, gasping for air.
Then, after a moment, he lifted his trembling hand and looked down.
The arm… the same arm that had been torn off just a few minutes ago was back again. The ribs that were crushed were whole again. The skin that had burned away was smooth once more.
He was… whole.
"Ah… no…"
His whisper came out cracked.
He raised both hands and touched his face, his chest, his throat—each part healed, perfect, and unscarred.
