Chapter 90 Wounds That Don't Heal

• The northern provinces were a testament to the unpredictable nature of dimensional magic. I rode through villages where houses stood in perfect preservation next to farms where crops had aged centuries in days, their fields now covered in ancient oaks that had sprouted from wheat. The people watched me pass with a mixture of hope and fear, their eyes tracking the skull relics that marked me as both their salvation and the source of their troubles.
• Kael rode beside me, his posture careful and controlled in ways that spoke of hidden pain. The demon's touch had left him with scars that went deeper than flesh—dark veins of corruption that traced across his left arm and shoulder, marking him as one who had been touched by otherworldly evil and survived. The healers had done what they could, but some wounds were beyond mortal medicine.
• "How far to the worst of the distortions?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral despite the concern that gnawed at me every time I saw him wince.