He stayed there—still crouched beside the beast, knees half-sunk in the shimmering pool—as the waterfall's resonance folded inward.
And Damien drank.
Not greedily, but wholly.
Like a newborn who had never known the meaning of warmth, now latched onto the one thing that made sense in a universe of cold.
The energy seeped into him—not in a surge, but in waves. Rhythmic. Intentional. His lungs pulled it in. His skin absorbed it. His bones, long brittle with absence, felt soaked now—coated in something ancient and right. Not just strength. Not just mana.
Nourishment.
The emptiness he had felt—the hunger beneath the hunger, the thirst that water could never quench—it faded.
His muscles no longer screamed. The spasms stopped. His breathing steadied until it no longer sounded like someone choking for life, but someone settling into it.
