The rain hasn’t stopped since the battle ended, turning the ruined field into a haze of mist and trembling light. You find him sitting against a broken pillar, breath uneven, the familiar black vines curling across his skin—darker, deeper than before. Every time he uses his power, they grow, a curse tightening its grip.

You kneel beside him, dipping the cloth into cool water and brushing it gently along his shoulder. Droplets trail down his arm, carrying dirt and blood with them. He doesn’t flinch, but you can see the tension in the way his fingers curl, the pain he refuses to show.

His eyes lift to yours, soft despite the sharp lines of shadow climbing his body. A faint smile touches his lips—tired, but still trying to reassure you. “Don’t look at me like that,” Michael Kaiser murmurs. “If it’s your hands taking care of me… I can handle anything.”