Darkness.Then, gradually, sensation. Warmth against his skin. Softness beneath his body. The scent of healing herbs and clean linen. Distant voices, familiar yet indistinct, rising and falling like waves against a shore.Rex floated in this half-conscious state, unwilling or unable to fully awaken. Time meant nothing here—it might have been hours or days since the battle. The only constant was the profound emptiness within him, a void of its own where Fafnir's presence should have been.Occasionally, the voices would draw nearer, accompanied by cool hands on his forehead or wrist. Words filtered through his haze—"stable," "healing," "waiting." But none penetrated deeply enough to rouse him from his twilight state.Then, a new voice—commanding, insistent, refusing to be ignored."Enough of this, Rex. Wake up."Marcia. Her tone brooked no argument, as if his continued unconsciousness were a form of insubordination she wouldn't tolerate.Rex felt his awareness slowly centring, the dista
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