Ren blinked slowly as the warm broth slid down his throat. He raised both hands, feeling the smooth, unblemished skin where scorched flesh once was. "What happened?" he asked softly, a hint of confusion in his voice.
Silence hung in the air. Khan, Nea, Derek, Denon, and the rest of the Band of Massiah stared at him in disbelief—still processing what had transpired.
"What do you mean?" Khan finally said, voice quiet, still trembling with relief. Ren's condition should have sparked panic, not calm.
Ren swallowed, then placed his bowl down gently. He looked at his right hand—fingers once burnt to a crisp now healed, flawless.
"You… you were burned so badly the healers gave up," Nea said, stepping closer, eyes wide with wonder and fear. "Even magic couldn't reach you... your body rejected it."
Ren met her gaze. "Yeah…" he replied tersely, uncertainty lacing his tone. He rubbed his lips before continuing.
