When Orion opened his eyes, half a month had passed.
A leaden weight still pressed down on his mind, the memory of that timeless battle in his consciousness still vivid and raw. He closed his eyes again, letting the recent past wash over him.
"You're awake."
A familiar voice pulled him back. He turned his head. Isabella, dressed in a practical leather tunic, was leaning against the headboard of a large, velvet-draped bed, watching him with an intense curiosity.
"Why are you here?" Orion asked, his own voice raspy. He ignored the question in her eyes. "Is the battle over?"
"Like you, I was wounded. I'm recovering," she said with a shrug. "And no, not quite over, but it's in its final throes. The enemy is broken, and our forces are sweeping the field."
