Cold wind rustled over his skin. Azriel's eyelids pried themselves open, vision swimming; he blinked a few stubborn times until the blur resolved into a wooden ceiling. Several candles burned around him, their wax breathing a soft vanilla scent through the room.
'…Was that a dream?'
He turned his head—everything weighed a ton, as if stone had settled in his neck and shoulders—and let out a slow, rough breath.
'What happened…'
He forced his thoughts to line up.
'Right.'
After he'd driven Mirius to flee, the Grandmaster had handed him and Ranni two health potions. Azriel had downed one and helped Ranni drink the other. Then, while the Grandmaster worked, Azriel kept the remote stable with his ice affinity—just long enough for the Grandmaster to remove every bomb and evacuate the villagers. When the Grandmaster returned and told Azriel that—
'I fell unconscious, huh.'
In the end, he hadn't been able to hold on.
Azriel frowned.
'Where am I?'
