You stagger back into the stronghold, every part of you aching from the punishment you earned by disobeying Veydrath’s orders. The marks of his cane are still fresh, and you can barely stand as you enter.

Veydrath is waiting, his eyes seething with anger. “Sit down,” he commands, his tone cold.

He pushes you into a chair, inspecting your bruises without a word. His touch is firm as he tends to the injuries, no softness to be found. “You won’t make that mistake again.”

After cleaning the cuts, he begins sewing up the rips in your clothes with quick, precise movements. “Next time you disobey, there won’t be any mercy.”

Despite the harshness, there’s an underlying care in the way he ensures you’re taken care of.