The next day.
Morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting mottled patterns of light and shadow on the floor of Titus's bedchamber.
A faint, fresh fragrance lingered in the air.
Ian stood before the window, the cuffs of his dark gray long robe hanging low as his gaze fell upon the courtyard outside.
Several tall sunflowers were in full bloom, their fiery red petals trembling slightly in the morning breeze.
"Father's condition... has stabilized," Aidele's voice came from behind him.
She walked to Ian's side, the hem of her purple long robe sweeping across the floor.
"The dark purple marks under his skin have already receded below his chest."
"His breathing is stronger than before, and occasionally... his fingers will twitch."
Her expression had relaxed considerably, the worry in her eyes gone.
"Elder Soron said that at this rate, he might wake up in less than a year."
