This is a very quiet place, the air is filled with a faint floral scent, someone deliberately used perfume to try to cover up the smell of blood and the strong scent of disinfectant in the room.
The beds are neatly lined up, but only the bed in the middle is occupied, piled with various books beside it, seemingly to entertain the patient.
Lorenzo stared blankly at the ceiling, lying in the soft bed, his left foot wrapped in bandages, encased in a brace and elevated high, with his other hand resting casually to the side, covered in needle marks from medication injections.
A week had passed since the night Dean Lawrence appeared, that chaotic fight ended with Dean Lawrence's escape. According to reports from personnel outside the field, Dean Lawrence seemed intent on killing Lorenzo, who had lost mobility due to erosion, but just as he was about to take action, the war airship above the night sky went out of control and crashed, burying everything on the battlefield.
