"A-ARGHHH!"
The scream tore through the tent like a blade through cloth—raw, violent, and painful to hear.
It was Garian.
He thrashed on the bed, his limbs shaking as if trying to escape his own body.
His face contorted in agony as thick black blood poured from his eyes, his mouth, his nose, and even his ears.
The corruption was spreading fast, faster than even the worst predictions.
His skin paled under the strain, the veins beneath turning pitch-black and branching like roots across his entire body.
His insides were burning—organs decaying, his blood turning to sludge. The dark seed had taken root deep within, and now his own eidra fought in vain to resist it.
The tent flap burst open.
*Flap!
Jirael stormed in, panic flooding her face. She stumbled to Garian's side, landing on her knees beside the bed, her trembling hands reaching for him.
