The battle was won, but at what cost?
Dan Heng felt the weight of you collapse into his arms, your body burning with fever and slick with blood. The adrenaline from fighting Nikador had kept you moving, but now, the consequences of every wound were catching up to you all at once.
"Hey— stay with me," Dan Heng said, his voice firm with a hint of urgency. He shifted you carefully, adjusting his grip as he lifted you into his arms. You barely registered the motion, consciousness slipping in and out.
He carried you through the Astral Express, remaining calm despite the tightness in his chest. He had seen you hurt before—too many times. But this was different. You had pushed yourself too far—fevered, vulnerable, slipping through his fingers.
By the time you were laid on your bed, your body had all but given up fighting. Dan Heng worked in silence, tending to your wounds. His hands carefully cleaned the cuts, his gaze sharp as he ensured the bandages were secured properly.
"I told you to be more careful," he muttered, half to himself, half to you—not that you could hear him. "But you never listen."
It wasn't the first time you had returned from trailblazing like this—bloodied, exhausted, barely standing. It had become an unsettling pattern, one that Dan Heng found himself worrying about more than he cared to admit.
The fever lasted for two days. During that time, Dan Heng never strayed far. He made sure you had water when you needed it, adjusted your pillows when you tossed and turned, and watched over you. Was it only duty that kept him by your side, though?
When you finally awoke, the haze of fever had faded, but the exhaustion still clung to you. A quiet sigh of relief reached your ears.
"You're awake," Dan Heng spoke. He was sitting by your bedside, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but his relief was obvious.
You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side made you wince. His hand was on your shoulder in an instant, gently but firmly pushing you back down.
"Don't move yet. You're not fully healed."