Two years had slipped by since you’d last walked this path. Two years since the coin-bound nightmare had swallowed you. Two years since Ethari had been left to mourn a ghost. And now, battered, aching, but undeniably alive, you crossed your threshold once more.

“Easy now, my heart,” Ethari whispered, steadying you as if afraid you might vanish again. His arm circled your waist, holding you up with a gentleness that stung more than any wound. “Come — we’ll get you washed, tended to, and then you can finally rest.”