Frey understood it.
But a searing wave of pain tore through him, yanking him out of his thoughts and back to the empty space where his right arm used to be.
Groaning in agony as blood poured from the wound, Frey channeled all his focus into his limb, trying to reattach it.
Snow rushed toward him immediately, using Vermithor to assist in the healing. Ghost, with a swift movement of his hand, began stitching the arm with incredible speed—trying to reconnect it before it was too late.
When they finished, Ghost stepped back.
"Even with all that… there's no guarantee you'll be able to use it again," he said with concern.
Frey just smiled.
"No need to worry. My body's… a little different from the average human."
He had never feared losing an arm.
It wasn't the first time he'd lost one anyway ..
and he could already start to feel his fingers again.
Ironically, the last time he lost an arm had also involved statues.
A strange coincidence.
