The healing tent was thick with tension as the first hints of dawn crept across the sky. Byung lay on the wooden table, his breathing faint and irregular. For several terrifying minutes, his heart had almost flatlined — the pulse so weak it was barely detectable. Grishka kept two thick fingers pressed against his neck, refusing to move.
She remembered this feeling. It was similar to the time after Kraghul had beaten his brains in — when Byung had slipped into a deep coma. But this time was different. The black veins spreading across his body pulsed with an unnatural rhythm, and the air around him felt charged with raw, unstable mana. Grishka knew she had to keep this under wraps. If word got out that their King was on the verge of death again, panic would spread through the settlement like wildfire.
