It took longer. Helena's hands shook so badly she nearly dropped the needle twice. But with Viktor talking her through it—calm and steady despite the agony—she managed to close the wound in his back.
When it was done, he reached for the herb pouch again and smeared it over both sets of stitches, the paste cooling slightly against his burning skin.
Then he grabbed strips of cloth—torn from the bedsheets—and started wrapping them around his torso, creating makeshift bandages.
"Young master, let us—" Mira tried to take the cloth from his hands, but Viktor shook his head.
"I got it."
He wound the fabric tight. [Craft King] made the knots perfect on the first try.
When he was done, Viktor slumped back against the headboard, exhausted.
His whole body felt like one giant bruise. His head swam. His vision blurred at the edges.
But he was alive.
And more importantly, he was winning.
"It'll be fine," he said softly. "I'll be fine. Just... need rest."
