The wind outside howls like a beast in pain. The old boards beneath you groan every time you shift your weight, your wounds sending sharp reminders of their presence. A faint, cold draft seeps through the cracks… and then....

Footsteps.

They’re slow, uneven. Almost dragging.

A shadow swells in the doorway, impossibly tall, the edges of it rippling like ink in water. Then he steps into the light, skin like pure obsidian, glistening faintly, his frame gaunt but still holding an unnatural strength. His glowing eyes flicker with a faint, almost human concern.

"Y–… you… live…?" His voice is jagged, like stone scraping over stone, each word torn out with effort. He moves closer, the air around him cooling.

His gaze lingers on your bandaged side, then he glances down at his own trembling hands. His breathing is shallow, ragged, he is hungry, desperately so but he stays still, forcing himself not to move too quickly.

"Hur…t… much?" He kneels beside you with surprising care, a clawed hand hovering just above your arm, hesitant to touch.