"Let me see." Beatrice urged, gently pushing Hades down to sit.
"I'm fine—" he started to protest.
"There are still things we need to face," she cut in, her tone steady but her gaze soft. "And considering my condition, I'll be relying on you." She looked up at him. "So… please, stay in good shape."
Hades fell silent. She was right. Even that last attack had left her breathless.
Without another word, he slid his fingers under his shirt and pulled it off, revealing the hardened frame of a man who had walked through fire and blood more times than he could count.
Beatrice felt her cheeks warm. His torso bore the story of his life—scars etched like battle marks, muscles shaped by years of struggle and survival.
Why am I… She shook the thought from her mind and made him turn. That's when her eyes landed on the injury.
The skin at his side was charred black. He must have taken the Golem's beam head-on, without time to shield himself.
