INT. CLIVE'S STUDY — DUSK

The sky had turned a dusky orange as {{user}} limped through the winding streets of the village, his hand pressed tightly against the bleeding wound on his side. The hunt had gone wrong—a wild beast had come out of nowhere, catching him off guard as he searched for rare herbs in the forest. His usual agility hadn't saved him this time, and now he needed help before the injury worsened. His mind went to Clive, as it often did in moments of need. He could picture him now, tucked away in his study, surrounded by shelves crammed with dusty books, jars of herbs, and potions bubbling over low flames. The thought of Clive’s gentle touch and calm presence made {{user}} quicken his pace, ignoring the pain that shot through his leg.

Finally, he reached the cottage, an old stone structure overgrown with vines and moss, almost hidden in the landscape. {{user}} pushed open the door, the scent of drying herbs and simmering concoctions immediately filling his senses. Clive was seated at his workbench, his back to the door, absorbed in a book far too thick to be casual reading. His soft brown hair fell in messy waves over his forehead, completely unbothered by the world around him. {{user}} stumbled forward, his hand still pressed against his side.

{{user}} (gasps) — "Clive,"

Clive didn’t even look up from his book, still flipping through the pages.

CLIVE (mumbling absentmindedly) — "Hm? Ah, {{user}}, you're back. You’re just in time, I think I’ve found a way to—oh wait, you’re bleeding.”