Lan noticed the expression on Xidriel’s face and he gently smiled as he guided him to lay down on the bed, being careful with his mangled arm.

Amon watched them for a moment before quietly walking out of the door.

“Your pain tolerance is quite admirable, young master.” Lan said conversationally to divert the topic, as he sat down at the edge of the bed. “Or is it because you can’t feel anything…?”

Xidriel only blinked at him, then finally moved his eyes down to his arm.

His breath hitched and his eyes shook upon seeing its condition: the skin was barely holding on, bits of bones peeks through the twisted meat, and dried blood sticking to it. 

He had broken his arm before in his old world, which needed to be put in a cast for a long time, but this…

Isn’t this too much?

Shouldn’t the deity or whoever’s in charge of his transmigration have come forward by now, to explain what he has to do instead of leaving him to face potential death at every turn?

Not to mention, his regeneration skill seems to be a one time thing…

No matter how much he fantasized being transported to a different world back when things were rough for him as a teen or even as a working adult to escape the problems popping up non-stop in his life as if the universe has cursed him for being born, if he has to face this kind of hardship instead…it’s definitely not worth it.

Xidriel didn’t realize at this point that he was already hyperventilating, and Lan carefully held his hand.

The oak leaf bracelet on his left wrist caught Xidriel’s attention for a moment, distracting him from his own frantic thoughts.

It was giving off the same ethereal, moonlit glow tinged with a bit of amber that slowly wrapped around his injury all the way up to his elbow.

“Why don’t you rest for the night, young master? I assure you by tomorrow morning, everything’s going to be fine and all that had happened was but a nightmare.”

His voice had a  pleasing, almost hypnotic melody to it unlike with Amon’s commanding voice from earlier when he subdued the ‘boy’. A gentle warmth soon entered his body, soothing his tense and tired body.

It wasn’t long until Xidriel’s eyes closed, his breathing slowly returning to normal. Lan quietly watched him sleep as he continued to hold his hand while the light that had wrapped around Xidriel’s arm slowly reconstructed the broken limb.

“Wiping his memory won’t work, Lan.” Amon said as he re-entered the room, holding the paper bag he had thrown aside earlier. “They did something to him. Bad enough that his very soul is in shambles.”

Lan froze at that, then turned his gaze towards his companion.

“Why didn’t you tell me that from the start?”

“You pushed me aside and fussed over him immediately. You didn’t really give me a chance to say anything…” Amon replied as he dropped the paper bag at the foot of Xidriel’s bed and pulled out the shirt. “I’m no expert but if those bastards gave him the ability to speak the Seraphine language, managed to produce that homunculus and even had the Crimson Knights come running, that means something big definitely happened in that place. Maybe the Matriarch could figure out what to do with them.”

Lan lowered his eyes back to Xidriel. “That’s a big ‘maybe’, Amon, but I guess we don’t really have much of a choice.”

Amon shrugged, as he shook out the shirt to take a better look at it.

“It’s really beyond our pay grade, you know.” He said as he frowned at the chiffon fabric up close, eyeing the slightly baggy sleeves and the low V neckline. “There is something clearly wrong with that old man, I swear to the Goddess…”

“...are you planning on wearing that chic shirt? I didn’t know you changed your taste in clothing…”

“What? No. I got this for the sleeping young master here since I don’t have clothes that would fit him and the one he was originally wearing was soaked in blood…hell, I had to pay someone to quickly modify the spare pants I have to fit him…”

Silence befell the two of them as they both looked at the shirt then at the oblivious Xidriel.

Well…he’s not entirely effeminate in terms of body shape and he has ample muscles to boast of…

But to put that shirt on him?

It paints quite a picture that would tickle the fancy of the most perverse mind.

“...I think I have an extra cloak for him.” Lan muttered. “It’ll cover him up well once we leave tomorrow.”

×××

Xidriel could feel himself floating weightlessly in the air. Perturbed by this, he opened his eyes and an endless void greeted him.

He flailed about to get himself upright, turning his head left and right to assess his new situation.

His mind is unnaturally clear now, as if he knew that this space is somewhere nothing could hurt him here.

He could also tell that his messy panic from earlier was strange and heightened beyond the usual due to an indistinct consciousness that didn’t belong to him.

He subconsciously looked down on his left arm, and saw that it was empty, or so he thought.

When he moved it around, he could feel the structure of his bones and the curl of his fingers as if they were still there, blending with the void.

He breathed out calmly, as he lifted his head once again.

This place somewhat gives him hope that someone would finally come forward to explain how and why he ended up in this world.

He patiently waited, floating about aimlessly.

Until he finally got wind of small, incomprehensible mutterings from behind him.

Xidriel turned, only to be greeted by half closed golden eyes watching him carefully. It slowly closed, blending with the void around it and the mutterings stopped flowing; a silhouette soon towered above him, the soft glow of moonlight making it distinguishable from the void.

The figure has a flowing dress made of the night sky, with the stars and clouds forever moving.

A dark veil covers its face, and perched on top of its head is an elegant diadem that features a crescent base that holds up the round moon as its focal point, with scattered stars of various shapes and sizes surrounding it.

The figure then raised a pale hand, reached down to him and pressed a cold finger against his forehead.