What they saw was Garion and Rachel, but what froze them wasn't Garion. It was Rachel.
Garion looked exactly as he always had.
His stance was steady, his presence unchanged, his gaze clear and composed. There was nothing unusual about him.
Rachel, however, was different.
The change was immediate and impossible to ignore.
Her eyes lacked their usual sharpness, drifting slightly as if she had trouble focusing.
Her posture, once straight and assured, now carried a subtle heaviness, as though each movement required more effort than it should.
One hand rested against her stomach, almost unconsciously, while the other held the edge of the table for support.
Her complexion was pale, drained of its usual vitality. She looked unwell.
Clara's hand, which had been raised mid-gesture, slowly lowered.
Her expression tightened, confusion quickly giving way to concern.
"Elder Rachel…?" she said, her voice unsteady. "How is this possible? How can you be sick?"
