Kaelith
Sylas and I made our way back to the underground Thronshade base. The headquarters beneath the Black Market was just a branch—not the main one. For now, returning to the main base wasn't an option. It wasn't safe.
My breathing was still heavy, my body burning from the aftermath of the explosion. The pain in my arms worsened, the pulsing energy refusing to fade. But I kept walking, showing no sign of weakness.
The stone corridors felt darker than usual. The air inside the base was cold, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of magic still thrumming beneath my skin. A few members glanced our way as we passed, perhaps wondering why we had returned in this state. But none dared to ask, not when they could tell I was in no mood for conversation.
"The Healers need to check your hands," Sylas finally spoke, walking beside me with his usual relaxed demeanor—far different from the tension he'd shown earlier. "You know that, right?"
I didn't answer.
