The giant marble tub was filled with mineral-rich water, the steam curling around Ethan's face as he lay floating, his eyes closed. The two elven spirits were nowhere to be seen. They were likely still in a deep, catatonic lethargy; the [Devourer] hadn't permanently damaged their foundations, but it had drained them so thoroughly that they would feel like hollow shells for days.
The silence of the room was heavy. Ethan felt every bruise on his ribs, every ache in his meridians, but his mind was far from the training courtyard. He was mentally mapping out the mission ahead. He was an infiltrator now, a ghost in enemy lines. He had seen enough movies back in his old world to know how this usually ended: torture, betrayal, and a lonely death in a dark cell.
"The Kingdom will abandon me, won't they, Crul?" Ethan whispered, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "If I'm caught, Isabella won't lift a finger. The White Unicorns won't sail for me. I'm a ghost that never existed."
