Arthur awakened to the soft glow of protective wards and the scent of ancient magic. His body felt different—not just healed, but fundamentally altered at the magical level. Power coursed through new pathways, stronger but unfamiliar, like wearing perfectly fitted clothes cut in an entirely different style.
The chamber around him was carved from living stone, its walls covered in protective symbols that hurt to look at directly. Luminescent crystals provided steady light, and the air itself seemed to hum with protective magic.
"Where are we?" Arthur asked, his voice hoarse but clearer than it had been in days.
Sylrathi knelt beside him, her ethereal beauty more pronounced in the mystical atmosphere. "A hidden sanctuary beneath the waystation. These wards have protected travelers since before the current kingdoms existed." "Your magical signature has changed completely, Arthur. What happened to you?"
