Back at the inn, the truth was far more grim.
Arjuna lay wrapped in layered quilts, face pale and drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.
His once-vibrant eyes were dulled, his nose red and running, lips cracked.
Beside him, Yudhisthira sat leaning against the wall, barely conscious.
Bheema, the strongest of them all, looked worse—his chest rising and falling as if every breath was a battle.
Their room smelled faintly of medicine, incense, and worry.
Instructor Catherine stood beside the bed, her face cold but her hands trembling. She had stayed with them the whole night. All treatments, all healing scrolls, even spiritual restoration spells had failed.
"I've made the call," she said quietly to Beowulf, Rael, Eon, and Nuada, who stood nearby. "We're pulling out."
Beowulf didn't argue. Rael and Eon shared a glance, neither liking it, but understanding.
