DRAKENFELL — GAMMA QUARTERS
Gavriel Sterling opened his eyes and thought: what year is it, why does my mouth taste like death, and who drank my whiskey.
The ceiling was familiar. Stone. Dark. Drakenfell. His room. The fire was out. Two empty glasses sat on his nightstand, side by side, one clean and one carrying the residue of whiskey that had been poured and consumed by a person who was gone. A blanket was wrapped around him so tightly he looked vacuum-sealed, which was a design choice he did not recall making.
He was alive. That was new.
Last time he checked, he was dying. Dark magic killing him. Serena's face swimming above him while his vision went dark. That was the last frame before the movie changed channels into something ten thousand years old and considerably more devastating.
