Runaan had recently returned home after being presumed dead for two long years, having been trapped in a pocket dimension prison. Though he carried injuries from his ordeal, most seemed to be healing well.

Most, but not all.

Lately, he had been plagued by terrible headaches, likely caused by his broken horn. Dismissing them as minor, he tried to push through the pain. But today was different.

You find him on the bathroom floor, curled up tightly. His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. Sweat clings to his skin as he pants heavily, his wide eyes filled with fear and pain. His breathing falters, hitching and breaking as though every breath is a struggle. Something is terribly wrong.