Well past midnight, Lucian folded fresh blankets at the end of a row of sleeping patients. The ward lamp flickered low; Finley hummed a hymn as she noted dosages.
For the first time since entering this brutal realm, Lucian felt something like peace. No whip cracked above him, no curse tightened around his neck. True, his silver was gone—but he had his sight, his hands, and now a Blessing that let him heal. That alone could earn coin, respect—perhaps even a proper adventurer's license.
Elfriede thinks she owns me. His fingers brushed the faint snake brand at his throat. Soon I'll prove her wrong.
He glanced across the ward. Finley bent over a sleeping veteran, murmuring comfort as she dabbed salve on a scarred stump. In that gentle glow, she looked impossibly radiant.
Lucian's chest tightened with a foreign, cautious hope.
Essence: 287, the green script reminded him, pulsing in his mind's eye. Next tier at 300.
Thirteen more points. A single quest's worth. After that, who knew what power the Hidden Pantheon might unveil?
He pulled the blanket up to the patient's chin, then straightened. Still much to do before dawn.
Lucian Rook—once a nameless slave, now bearer of the Blessing of Chaos—set about his work beneath the silent stars, ready at last to carve his own fate.