The light of dawn filtered through the thick curtains of the room, painting the room with a soft, golden glow. The air was warm, smelling of healing herbs and sweet incense smoke. In the center of the large bed, two figures lay beneath crumpled sheets—motionless, except for the slight rise and fall of their chests, a sign that life still pulsed there.
Xenovia was the first to stir. A frown crossed her forehead as the throbbing pain behind her eyes intensified with the slightest movement. She let out a hoarse groan and brought her hand to her head.
"Ugh... what... happened?" she muttered.
Beside her, Kryssia grumbled and turned over, pressing her face against the pillow before slowly opening her eyes. She blinked several times, as if the very act of seeing hurt.
"I feel like I've been run over by a herd of griffins..." she muttered, her voice hoarse. "Or by a dragon."
