Warmth settled over Devon, not the feverish burn from before, but the steady, living kind that pulsed softly beneath his skin. His limbs still felt heavy, but the crushing weakness that once pinned him to the bed had loosened. He breathed in deeply, and the air no longer stung like frost.
He blinked groggily and pushed himself up. This time, his body didn't protest as violently.
A soft chime echoed from the corner of the room.
"You are awake."
Devon turned his head. The elf from before stood by the doorway, moonlit hair falling like silk over his shoulders. His expression softened when he noticed Devon's posture, upright, alert, alive.
"You look steadier today," the elf continued, stepping forward with practiced grace. "But do not push yourself too far."
Devon cleared his throat. Still scratchy, still sore, but not empty.
"What… time is it?" he managed.
The elf's lips curved faintly, as if amused by the simplicity of the question.
