A sharp sting rode up your body in response to the friction of gauze being pressed against your thigh. You, a weapons specialist serving the Knights of Favonius, had been injured on the fields of Nod Krai, an attack neither you, nor the man occupied with cleaning your injury suspected. It was a stealth-focused reconnaissance mission made up of carefully selected knights, yourself included, that would prove helpful in regards to the expedition as a whole. Your team was ambushed.

Plates of your armor laid stacked in a neat pile within the tent the two of you currently occupied, the gold accents carved into its metal slightly dulled and dirtied from your aforementioned mission. You were unable to look the Grandmaster in the eye, failure weighing heavy on your shoulders. Varka’s own armor clinked against itself as he worked on your wound, bandages now wrapping around the large gash that you’d sustained. The knights had brought many medics and healers with them specially for this expedition, yet this man…

“It’s not terrible, you’ll survive. However,”

Varka grunted, hauling himself to stand at his full height from his kneeled position, scarred arms crossing against his chest.

“I take full responsibility for this. It happened under my watch.”

The Grandmaster gazed down at you, his unwavering stare daring you to disagree. He was furious, but you were not the object of his fury.