Greymark's clinic leaned at the village edge like a cautious sentinel. Timbered walls sagged slightly, weighed down by shelves crammed with jars, vials, and dried herbs. Outside, the air smelled of roasting meat, iron, and crushed leaves. Occasional groans and the soft clang of metal drifted from inside.

The party hesitated. Mud-streaked boots and armor after the forest trek.

Leo adjusted the straps holding the armored man. "It smells… medicinal," he said, trying to sound confident. His voice betrayed a hint of unease.

Rosalie wrinkled her nose. "Medicinal? Ha! It smells like chaos, sweat, and old iron. I think the forest might have been kinder to my senses." Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "Somehow, I'm surviving it anyway."

Elion pinched the bridge of his nose. "Focus. The clinic is unsettling enough without your commentary."

The door creaked open. Sylvia appeared, apron pristine, hair tied back, hands poised like a surgeon ready for invisible scalpels. Her voice was soft, almost musical. "Ah! You're back! How wonderful."

Her gaze immediately fixed on the armored body. Pupils narrowed, gleaming with sharp curiosity. So much energy… restrained… exquisite, she thought. Her fingers twitched, itching to trace every hidden current.

Rosalie gawked. "Exquisite? That's books! Not real people, Sylvia!" She clutched her flask. "Oh gods, I should leave. Or maybe not…"

Sylvia didn't answer. She circled the party with precise, measured steps, eyes assessing.

The first few treatments were chaotic, playful, and slightly unnerving.

Rosalie yelped as a potion fizzed over her fingers. Leo flinched as a faint glow traced his shoulder. Elion muttered complaints under his breath. Sparks of magic danced harmlessly, but enough to make the party jump.

Even above, the Demon Lord's soul hovered, cold and detached, watching with faint curiosity.

Sylvia's fascination grew. She listened to pulse, noted muscle responses, and sometimes prolonged minor discomfort, not out of cruelty but careful observation. Each twitch, each flinch, each pulse taught her more about life, energy, and the body itself.

Then her gaze fell on the armored figure.

Rosalie's head snapped up. "Wait! You can't just leave him with her! He's… someone has to protect him!"

Sylvia's eyes narrowed slightly, a silent challenge. Rosalie froze, caught between stubbornness and reason.

Garrick's voice cut through. "We're going to the inn for food and drinks. You'll calm down if you come with me."

Before she could protest, Garrick bent slightly, scooped her up, and slung her over his shoulder.

"Hey! Put me down! This is not because I can't escape!"

"You'll have time to argue later. Food and drinks," Garrick said, unflinching.

Rosalie muffled a dramatic groan. "Fine… this is totally for food and drinks, not because I can't get away!"

With that, Garrick carried her out. Outside, they laughed and argued, bickering over who had tripped more in the forest. The bustling streets of Greymark swallowed their voices. Only Leo and Elion remained, left inside with Sylvia. The door thudded shut. Silence fell, heavy and tense.

Sylvia knelt beside the armored figure. Her hands hovered, sensing every microtremor and pulse. Every quiver, every subtle heat shift, it speaks.

Leo leaned closer, eyes wide. She's reading him like a book. Terrifying, mesmerizing.

Elion's arms crossed tightly. One wrong move… He didn't finish the thought.

Straps loosened. Dark plate slid aside. The pale, tense body beneath shivered.

Sylvia drew a precise, thin incision along a hidden seam in the chest. Whispering softly, she threaded her soul energy through it, flowing delicately along dormant pathways. A faint warm pulse spread beneath her hands, subtle but insistent.

The clinic smelled sharply of iron, herbs, and faintly burnt alcohol. Light flickered across jars and vials. Every twitch of muscle, every small pulse of energy was observed, noted, and responded to.

Leo's eyes caught the faint hum along the armor and sword. Elion's gaze tracked every muscle shift silently.

Minutes passed. Sylvia's hands moved with meticulous precision, manipulating tissue, coaxing life, reading every subtle reaction. The unconscious figure twitched deliberately.

Above, the Demon Lord's soul observed. A mortal clinging to life with obsession, hiding fear beneath perfect precision. Interesting.

Finally, a pulse shimmered beneath Sylvia's hands. Muscle flexed, aura stabilized. The body responded fully to her careful infusion of energy. She leaned back, eyes shining.

The unconscious figure's chest rose sharply. His eyelids fluttered, and for a fleeting heartbeat, they opened, catching Sylvia's gaze. Time seemed to hang in that instant; Leo froze, Elion stiffened. The air was thick, charged with something immense.

Then, just as quickly, his eyes slid shut. His chest stilled, and the body sank back into unconsciousness.

Outside, Rosalie and Garrick continued laughing and arguing on the way to the inn. The village went about its business, oblivious to the danger inside.

Above, the Demon Lord's soul stirred, a thin curl of satisfaction tugging at unseen lips. Interesting… still alive, still stubborn.

The room exhaled along with Leo and Elion. Inside, the tension lingered, heavier than any forest stillness. The next time he awoke, everything would be different.