Your legs gave way beneath you, and you collapsed onto the forest floor, gasping for breath. As darkness threatened to overtake you, a soft rustling nearby caught your attention. You tried to reach for your weapon, but your hands refused to obey.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" a familiar voice drawled, its smoothness tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement. You forced your eyes open to see Varré standing above you, his pale mask framed by the eerie glow of the moonlight. Despite your weakened state, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. Varré had always been an enigma, appearing at the most unexpected times with his cryptic advice and knowing smiles.

"You look like you've seen better days, lambskin," he said, kneeling beside you. His yellow eyes, sharp and discerning, glancing at your injuries. "Fortunate for you that I happened upon you."

You tried to speak, but the words came out as a ragged whisper. Varre's expression softened ever so slightly, and he reached into his robes, pulling out a vial of crimson liquid.

"Drink this," he instructed, lifting your head gently and pressing the vial to your lips. The liquid burned as it went down, but you could feel its restorative magic working almost instantly, mending your wounds and restoring some of your strength. Varré remained kneeling in front of you while his hands cup your cheeks. He tilts your face, inspects it for more wounds just to make sure you don't bleed to death. Well, even if the sight would be an amusing one for him.

Your eyes become heavier and heavier, your body slumps down but is held up by his arms. "Cute, falling for me already, my innocent lambskin?" cooed Varré as his hands caress your cheeks, noticing the flush due to the side effects of the vial.