Cold sand shifted beneath Hajin's boots while the recovery camp shrank behind both men.
The Captain walked several paces ahead with one hand near his claymore, though exhaustion made every armored step sink deeper.
Neither spoke until a broad dune covered the tents, leaving only moonlight and scattered black stone around them.
The silence between them had a working quality to it, the shared kind two men recognize when both already know a fight is coming.
Hajin pressed one palm against the place where the worm's spike had crossed his chest earlier.
Vella's completed healing left no ache, heat, scar, weakness, or internal drag beneath his shirt.
The flesh felt untouched even during a deep breath, which meant any pain after tonight would belong to his current stupidity.
Hajin rolled his healthy shoulders while the older man waited for an answer.
'Starting a fight with a six-shard veteran may correct that suspicious lack of injuries.'
