The pull of the relay station faded. Vane and Isole stepped out of the runic circle onto the polished cobblestones of Argentum City. The transition from the freezing mud of Mourn Hold to the pristine streets of the capital was jarring. The air smelled of refined mana and expensive perfumes, entirely devoid of the necrotic rot they had been breathing for three days.
Vane took a slow breath. His right lung expanded perfectly. The blood root paste from the Hearth Bed had done its job overnight. His fractured left arm still ached with a dull throb, but it was functional.
Isole walked right beside him. She did not look like the fragile Saintess who had arrived six months ago. She was no longer drowning in heavy silk robes meant to hide her from the world. She wore her standard academy mantle over her clothes. Her dark green hair fell loosely around her shoulders. She walked with a quiet, grounded confidence.
