A tense, heavy silence filled the dim chambers of the imperial infirmary, broken only by the ragged, wet breaths of the ruined prince.
A crowd of palace physicians stood huddled around Lucian's bed. Their hands glowed with a pale, flickering healing mana as they worked frantically to knit together the ribs that had been shattered—first by Evangeline's brutal display in the arena, and then by the Emperor's unforgiving, punishing fist. Deep, jagged lacerations covered his pale torso, leaking blood that stained the white sheets.
Yet, the physical wounds were nothing compared to the agony rippling through his veins. The effects of the forbidden elixir had completely dissipated, leaving behind a violent, agonizing backlash. It felt like liquid fire melting his bones from the inside out, a brutal price for a borrowed power.
