- Orven Von Halbrecht POV -
Orven von Halbrecht woke in his room and stayed still, staring at the ceiling. The first thing that reached him was thirst. Not mild discomfort, not the usual dry mouth after wine, but a brutal, urgent need that swallowed every other thought. His throat felt scraped raw, his tongue thick against his teeth, and for a few seconds the whole world narrowed into one demand: water. Nothing else existed. Nothing else had permission to exist until he drank.
He pushed himself out of bed in one sharp motion and immediately collapsed. His legs failed him almost at once, refusing to answer properly, and he hit the floor hard enough to drag a curse out of his mouth.
For a moment he stayed there, gripping the edge of the bed, furious at his own body for behaving like an apprentice after his first tavern night. It took several breaths before his knees remembered their function, and even then he stood like a man negotiating with badly maintained machinery.
