Damien was looking at the panel in front of him. It wasn't anything bad. It just showed him a passive skill he had no idea existed.
[System Status: Recovery Mode – Passive Healing Active]
He soon gave another ntal command as he didn't want to mutter sothing odd in the room in the presence of others. "Condition of my summons?"
[Summons Condition: Fenrir (Guarding), Cerbe (Ground Sweeping), Skylar (Recovery Cycle), Aquila (With Arielle), Luton (Storage Mode)]
The hush of the room pressed against Damien's ears like water.
His body was still, but his thoughts buzzed—quiet, heavy, unfinished. Arielle sat beside him, chin resting on her knuckles, her legs crossed and foot bouncing lightly against the floor.
"You said sothing," she said, her voice soft but not hesitant. "Before you passed out. Sothing about a sixth."
Damien didn't answer imdiately.
He studied the ceiling, wooden beams reinforced with enchanted steel. The shadows cast from the lanterns danced slightly across the stone-trimd walls.
Damien could hear the distant hum of protective magic runes running across the compound.
"Yeah," he said eventually, barely above a whisper. "I did."
She waited.
When no elaboration ca, her brow furrowed faintly. "Sixth what, Damien?"
He finally turned to look at her, red eyes dulled from exhaustion but still alert. "I'll show you soon."
She frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I can give right now."
Arielle exhaled through her nose, clearly debating whether to press the issue. Then she stood. "You're always like this. Cagey, mysterious, annoyingly calm while half-dead."
He smirked faintly. "It's worked so far."
"Barely."
As she reached the door, she paused. "Rest. You look like death. I'm going to check on Lyone. He's been trying to co stay by your side, but I told him you'd want him fed more than hovered over."
Damien nodded. "Tell him not to finish the food without ."
Arielle raised an eyebrow. "You're not in any condition to eat."
At that exact mont, his stomach rumbled.
Brrrrrr...
Audibly.
Arielle blinked.
Damien blinked back.
"…That was Willor," he said, deadpan.
The commander, seated on the bed across the room, chuckled. "If I wasn't halfway crippled, I'd throw sothing at you."
Arielle covered her mouth as she laughed. "I'll have a hot plate sent up for the both of you. And sothing for Luyon too, if it promises not to eat the cooks."
"Luton's picky," Damien said. "He only eats threats, monsters, and occasionally thieves or small ti criminals."
"Comforting."
She waved once, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she stepped out. "Don't die while I'm gone."
Clack!
The door clicked shut behind her, and silence returned.
Commander Willor set down a steaming mug on the windowsill beside his bed. He was already wrapped in clean bandages, shirtless under a fur-lined coat, his expression more relaxed than Damien had ever seen.
"She's sharp," Willor said, voice even. "And loyal."
"Yeah," Damien replied simply.
"She yours?"
Damien looked up. "Is that a question or a judgnt?"
Willor shrugged. "Just observation. You don't talk much. But you watch her. Closely."
"She's the kind of person you watch," Damien said after a pause. "Not because you don't trust her. But because people like her… they get caught between things. People. Choices."
Willor leaned back, eyes heavy. "I had soone like that once. Years ago."
"What happened?"
"She didn't wait for to co back."
There was a beat of silence. "You spent too much ti getting milk, didn't you?"
More silence...
Commander Willor was silent.
Damien had gone silent too. He was silently regretting that statent.
"Sorry." He finally muttered.
"Don't be," Willor muttered. "It made better. Colder, but better."
They both sat quietly for a mont.
Willor pulled a fresh tray of roasted at, dried vegetables, and soft-baked bread toward him and set a plate down between them.
"Eat. You'll heal faster."
Damien accepted a share of the food, tearing into the at without ceremony. Every bite sent pulses of warmth back into his sore limbs.
"How long was I out again?" Damien asked again. He'd obviously forgotten that the commander had answered the sa question from him minutes ago.
"Eighteen hours. You collapsed on Fenrir's back at the ridge and scared the hell out of the Dunters who saw you pass out."
"Where are they now?"
"Scattered. Dead ones being honored. Survivors resting or prepping to move out. Most left you alone. They're not sure what you are."
Damien didn't respond. He chewed quietly.
Willor leaned against the window fra. "They say you didn't just fight those things on the other end before you ca to help our side. You tore through them. Alone."
"I didn't," Damien corrected. "I had my summons."
"Still. You led them. That fusion demon... it would've killed all of us."
"You held it off long enough."
Willor chuckled darkly. "We both know that wasn't going to last. I was seconds from going under when you arrived."
Damien looked at him. "Then it was good timing."
"Luck?"
"Sothing like that."
A few more minutes passed before the commander finally stood, wincing as his leg protested beneath him.
"I'm done for the night. Try not to break the furniture in your sleep."
Damien smirked. "No promises."
Willor pulled the blanket up to his chest and exhaled. "Wake if the walls explode."
"Only if I'm awake to notice."
"Fair enough." Commander Willor chuckled.
Within seconds, the commander was asleep, soft snoring filling the upper air of the room.
Damien leaned back in his bed again, his plate now empty, his limbs aching in that dull, overused way that always followed massive essence expenditure.
He lay flat.
But sleep didn't co right away.
The system had been quiet since the last update, but the weight of it lingered at the back of his mind like a pulse just beneath the surface of his skin.
Six Summons.
One slot still free.
It didn't show him anything.
No preview.
No description.
Not even a silhouette.
But he could feel it… curled deep within his summoning core.
He had a gut feeling that it just might be more powerful compared to his current ones.
Sothing about this summon slot felt odd compared to the others. Not just a beast. Not a monster.
Sothing more… mythic.
He didn't fear it.
He just wanted to be ready.
He turned on his side, let out a long breath, and finally, as the lanterns flickered lower and the night sky rolled over Greshan, he slept.
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