Pain was the first thing.
It arrived as an omnipresent pressure, a crushing weight wrapping around every part of his body.
Thiriel opened his eyes with difficulty, and for a few seconds, he didn't know where he was or who he was.
The wooden ceiling appeared blurry above him.
He breathed.
That simple act made an intense burning run through his chest, his ribs, his back. A low moan escaped his throat before he could contain it.
"I'm still alive," he murmured, with a hoarse voice.
He blinked several times until his vision cleared a little more.
He was in a simple, but clean bed. The smell of dried herbs and ointments floated in the air, mixed with the soft scent of a well-kept inn.
He tried to move his fingers.
He managed, barely.
Every small movement was accompanied by deep pain, as if his muscles were protesting for having been forced beyond what was permitted.
Thiriel closed his eyes for a moment.
It was too close.
The memories returned all at once: the tower, Vexar, the ambush, the fight to the death, the extreme use of the Magic Warrior Aura, the escape, and finally, the collapse in front of the gates of Oakhaven.
"I almost broke myself completely," he whispered.
Carefully, he turned his attention to the inside of his body.
The magic core was there, but weak, like a flame reduced to embers. There was no constant flow; the magic responded slowly, resisting mobilization.
The internal pathways were tense, some partially damaged, though not collapsed.
"I was lucky," he thought. "Very lucky."
He took a deep breath, controlling the rhythm.
He remembered something.
A technique.
Vexar had taught it as something secondary, almost trivial, intended for mages who exhausted themselves excessively: a basic technique of internal recovery, not a full healing spell, but a way to guide magic to accelerate the body's natural regeneration.
At that moment, it was the only thing he had.
Thiriel started slowly.
He didn't force the core. He simply allowed a small amount of magic to flow, running through the most damaged areas. He didn't seek to heal everything at once. He concentrated on stabilizing his situation.
The pain didn't disappear.
But it stopped getting worse.
A slight sensation of heat emerged in his chest, then in his shoulders, spreading like a soft caress that contrasted with the constant burning.
His muscles were still shattered, but the recovery process had begun.
It was then that he heard footsteps.
The door opened carefully.
"Brother?"
Caethiriel's trembling voice arrived before her figure. As soon as she saw him with his eyes open, she froze at the threshold.
He turned his head slowly toward her.
"Hello, Cae," he said, forcing a small smile. "Seems I slept a little too long."
That was enough.
Caethiriel ran across the room and knelt beside the bed, grabbing his hand tightly. Her eyes filled with tears she didn't try to hold back.
"Idiot!" she sobbed. "Almost a week and you wouldn't wake up! I thought that…!"
Her voice broke.
Thiriel squeezed her fingers gently, although the movement caused a grimace of pain.
"I'm here," he said. "Sorry for scaring you."
Caethiriel shook her head, crying openly now, resting her forehead against the edge of the bed.
"Don't ever do something like that again, ever…"
Before he could answer, another figure entered the room.
"Did your brother finally wake up?"
Thiriel looked up.
The healer, Arielle, was standing by the door, with her usual bag hanging from her shoulder. Upon seeing him conscious, her expression softened immediately, and evident relief crossed her face.
"Wow," she said. "Glad to see miracles exist."
She approached the bed with calm steps, but when Thiriel looked directly at her, their eyes met.
For a second, Arielle stood motionless.
Her face tinged with a faint blush.
It wasn't an intimidating or cold gaze. It was serious and deep, too intense for someone who had just woken up after days unconscious.
"Did I do something weird?" asked Thiriel, with a weak voice.
"N-no," replied Arielle quickly, looking away. "I just didn't expect you to wake up today."
Caethiriel wiped her tears and turned toward her.
"Thank you, Arielle!" she said with sincerity. "Truly, thank you for helping my brother heal."
Arielle shook her head.
"It is my job," she replied.
"Although…" She looked at Thiriel again. "Not just anyone survives a state like that."
She approached and began to check him carefully, resting her fingers on his wrist, then on his neck, evaluating the pulse.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"I can't move from the pain," he replied.
Arielle let out a small laugh, brief, almost involuntary.
"That fits quite well with how you are currently," she said. "Your body is full of muscular micro-tears. Some weren't micro, to be honest."
Her tone became more professional.
"If you hadn't had such a solid physical base, you would be dead," she added. "Even with my help."
Thiriel nodded slowly.
"I imagined so."
"You shouldn't have exceeded yourself so much," she scolded him, though without harshness. "You forced all muscles and tendons above their limits."
"I had no alternative," he replied calmly.
Arielle looked at him sideways.
"That's what everyone who survives something like that says."
Caethiriel intervened immediately.
"Can he heal completely?" she asked, worried.
Arielle took a deep breath.
"Yes," she replied. "But it will take time. Absolute rest, constant treatment, and no extreme efforts."
Thiriel gave a half-smile.
"I promise to try."
"It is not a suggestion," she retorted, frowning slightly. "It is mandatory."
He raised his hand in a sign of surrender.
"Understood."
During the following days, time passed slowly.
Thiriel remained in bed, alternating between rest and the careful use of the magic recovery technique.
He didn't try to accelerate the process more than necessary; he had learned his lesson.
Arielle came every day.
She brought ointments, infusions, and herb mixtures that she applied by pressing, massaging, guiding the body's natural healing.
At first, Thiriel doubted their effectiveness, until he started noticing results.
"This… helps more than I expected," he admitted one afternoon.
Arielle smiled with pride.
"It's not like healing with magic," she said. "But it is useful for accelerating the physical recovery process and reducing inflammation."
As the week passed, the pain diminished gradually.
The bruises began to change color, the swelling subsided, and the internal magic flow became more stable.
Thiriel also began to get to know Arielle better.
Talking about simple things, about rare herbs and problematic clients.
Thiriel allowed himself to relax a little.
Arielle stopped getting nervous every time their gazes crossed.
Caethiriel, for her part, seemed calmer seeing her brother improve day after day.
At the end of that week, Thiriel could sit without help.
He was still far from recovering completely.
But he was alive.
And for the first time since he arrived in this world, he could start developing himself without feeling the pressure of being in someone's sights.