Chapter Text
Rain pours relentlessly from the night sky as Promeia steps out of the auction hall, the heavy doors closing behind her with a dull metallic thud.
Neon lights shimmer across the soaked streets below, distorted beneath rippling puddles while distant thunder rolls overhead, and lightning briefly illuminates the city skyline in cold flashes of white.
The chaos inside has already fallen silent. Bodies lie scattered across the ruined interior behind her, restrained survivors pinned beneath overturned furniture and shattered display cases while Krampus operatives move in to secure the scene.
The illegal auction that had operated untouched for years is finally finished.
Promeia pays none of it any attention. Her expression remains calm as she walks through the storm, rainwater trailing steadily from the edges of her dark cape while the restraints around her wrists glint faintly beneath the occasional flashes of lightning.
A quiet crackle sounds through the earpiece resting near her collar as the communication line reconnects.
“Mission complete.”
Static briefly fills the line before a familiar voice answers.
“Good. Did everything go well?”
Lightning flashes across Promeia’s face for the briefest moment, illuminating the unreadable calm in her eyes.
“Everything… proceeded as expected.” Her voice remains steady despite the storm raging around her. “What is my next mission?”
There is a short pause on the other end.
“Your next assignment is to visit Doctor Irene.” The Boss replies smoothly. “She is waiting at the usual location.”
Promeia’s steps slow almost imperceptibly. “…Understood.”
The communication cuts off soon afterwards, leaving only the sound of rainfall echoing through the empty streets as she continues walking alone through the storm.
Now that the adrenaline from the mission has begun fading, the damage to her body becomes harder to ignore. One leg drags slightly with every few steps, subtle enough that most people would never notice it, though the severe abrasion running several inches above her ankle continues bleeding beneath torn fabric and damaged armour plating. Bruises ache beneath her skin with every movement, while dried blood still clings stubbornly to parts of her despite the heavy rain.
None of it earns so much as a reaction from her.
Thunder rumbles heavily overhead as she moves deeper into the quieter outskirts of the city, bright neon gradually giving way to older streets lined with dim storefronts and flickering signs. Rainwater gathers beneath her heels with every uneven step.
Most people would probably seek shelter from weather like this.
However, Promeia barely seems to notice it. Or perhaps she simply does not care.
Eventually, a familiar building comes into view near the end of the street.
A small clinic tucked quietly between older structures, warm light glowing faintly through rain-streaked windows.
She has been sent here many times before. Usually after missions considered especially dangerous.
Not because she asked to be, but because someone had decided long ago that she could not be trusted to properly look after herself otherwise.
Rainwater drips steadily from the edge of her cape as she stands silently outside the entrance for a moment longer before finally stepping towards the door.
A soft chime echoes through the clinic the moment she enters.
Warm air immediately replaces the freezing rain outside, carrying the faint sterile scent of disinfectant and medicine through the quiet clinic. The lighting inside remains dim but comforting, casting a soft golden glow across the neatly organised room.
Behind the counter, Doctor Irene looks up from the documents spread across the table.
“Judge Promeia, I’ll be handling your treatment toda—”
“No need.”
Promeia’s voice cuts through the room before Irene can finish.
Droplets slide from the soaked fabric of her cape onto the tiled floor as she walks further inside.
“Just get started.”
Doctor Irene pauses briefly before letting out a small sigh, already sounding accustomed to this sort of behaviour from her.
“It’s just standard procedure.” She replies patiently. “Please sit. I’ll take a look at your wounds.” She gestures towards one of the medical beds nearby.
Promeia says nothing further. She walks towards the examination bed near the centre of the room before sitting along the edge of it, the restraints around her wrists giving a faint metallic clink as she adjusts herself into place.
Doctor Irene kneels down in front of her soon afterwards, carefully pulling aside the damaged fabric near her lower leg to inspect the injury properly.
The abrasion several inches above Promeia’s ankle looks worse beneath the clinic lighting. Part of the skin has been torn open, with traces of shattered debris and metal shards still embedded around the wound. Diluted streaks of blood continue trailing slowly down towards her heel.
Doctor Irene’s brows knit together slightly.
“The wound isn't too deep,” she says while examining it carefully, “but there are some shards left inside.”
She reaches towards the nearby tray of medical supplies and picks up a bottle of antiseptic solution alongside several pieces of gauze.
“Let’s start with basic disinfection.”
She unscrews the cap before looking up at her once more. “This may sting a little.”
Without waiting for a response, she carefully presses the antiseptic-soaked gauze against the exposed wound.
The sharp burning sensation hits almost instantly.
Promeia’s leg tenses slightly on reflex, and for the briefest instant, the faintest crease forms between her brows as a quiet wince slips through her otherwise composed expression.
Then, just as quickly, the reaction disappears. Her face settles back into its usual unreadable calm, as though nothing happened at all.
Doctor Irene notices anyway. Of course she does.
A soft sigh escapes her as she sets aside the bloodstained gauze before reaching beneath the soaked folds of Promeia’s cape. One by one, she carefully removes the hidden crescent-shaped blades concealed beneath the fabric and places them neatly atop the nearby desk for repairs later.
The metal gives a series of soft clinks against the surface.
“Lie back for me now. Let’s get that wound cleaned up.”
Promeia gives a small silent nod.
“I’m going to release your restraints briefly…”
Doctor Irene steps behind her, and the soft click of metal fills the room as the cuffs around Promeia’s wrists unlock. She removes both the restraints and the heavy rain-soaked cape before setting them aside nearby.
“Just relax.” She says calmly while organising everything. “This is just a necessary step for servicing the restraints.”
Promeia remains silent throughout the process, though the sudden absence of the familiar weight around her wrists leaves her looking strangely exposed for a fleeting moment.
Doctor Irene gently guides her down onto the medical bed, carefully adjusting her injured leg to avoid worsening the wound.
The mattress dips softly beneath her weight.
A moment later, she attaches a small heart rate monitor against her chest. Steady rhythmic beeping soon fills the quiet clinic alongside the distant sound of rain tapping against the windows outside.
“If the light bothers you, just close your eyes for me… and let your body loosen up.” She says softly while preparing the surgical tools nearby. “I’ll start by extracting the bigger pieces.”
A pair of sterilised tweezers glints beneath the overhead light.
“Relax your muscles. Otherwise it might cause secondary injury.”
Promeia exhales slowly through her nose, letting some of the tension leave her body.
Doctor Irene begins carefully extracting the embedded metal shards from Promeia’s leg.
The first piece slides free with a quiet metallic clink into the tray beside them.
Pain immediately shoots through Promeia’s leg.
Her eyes squeeze shut on instinct, a strained expression crossing her face before she can properly suppress it. Fingers curl faintly against the edge of the medical bed while her breathing grows uneven for a brief moment.
Without the restraints, without the cape, without the composed posture she normally hides behind, she suddenly looks far more vulnerable than usual.
Far too human.
Another shard comes free soon afterwards, followed by another soft metallic clink as it lands beside the others in the tray.
Promeia’s breathing falters again before gradually evening out.
Several quiet seconds pass before she finally opens her eyes once more. Though her expression has mostly settled back into place, faint traces of discomfort still linger beneath the dim clinic lighting.
Doctor Irene notices the lingering tension immediately and lets out a quiet sigh.
“Relax…” Her voice softens into something more soothing as she continues tending to the wound. “Imagine your body like a soft sponge, floating gently on water…”
Her hands remain steady as she reaches for another fragment lodged near the edge of the injury.
“Slowly expanding… opening up…”
The tweezers slide carefully beneath another shard.
“Expanding… Opening up…”
Promeia closes her eyes again and slowly draws in a deeper breath through her nose, forcing the stiffness in her muscles to ease little by little beneath Irene’s calm guidance.
After a few seconds, however, she turns her head slightly and opens her eyes just enough to glance towards Doctor Irene.
A faint look crosses her face that almost resembles reluctant embarrassment, her brows lowering subtly in the way someone might after being unexpectedly coddled.
Doctor Irene catches the expression immediately.
Promeia promptly turns her head back towards the ceiling. “Hmph—”
A small, amused smile tugs at Doctor Irene’s lips.
“As expected of Judge Promeia~” She says lightly while setting the tweezers aside for a moment. “The major pieces are all out. The rest will go much quicker.”
Promeia’s eyes drift back towards her, noticeably more unimpressed this time. “Are you treating me like a child?”
Doctor Irene hums innocently instead of answering directly, though the smile lingering on her face makes the answer painfully obvious.
She resumes working afterwards, removing the remaining smaller fragments before carefully disinfecting the wound again.
This time, Promeia barely reacts at all.
Not long afterwards, Doctor Irene begins wrapping fresh bandages securely around the injured area, her movements gentle yet efficient. Layer after layer of clean white fabric gradually covers the damaged skin until the wound is fully treated.
Once finished, she smooths the final layer neatly into place before finally straightening up.
“Alright, ma’am.” She says warmly. “The worse part’s over. You did great~”
The teasing praise earns a faint look from Promeia, though she seems far too drained to properly argue.
Doctor Irene simply smiles to herself as she begins preparing the next set of medical equipment nearby.
“Next, we’ll run a few routine checks.”
Promeia gives a small nod in acknowledgement.
Doctor Irene gently helps her sit upright before beginning the remainder of the examination. Cool air brushes against Promeia’s skin as Irene pulls aside parts of her clothing to properly inspect the rest of her condition, her movements professional and measured despite Promeia’s obvious discomfort with being handled so openly.
Bruises darken parts of her skin in uneven patches. Smaller cuts and abrasions scatter across her body, remnants of the brutal fight from earlier. Beneath the harsh clinic lighting, the damage appears far worse than Promeia had allowed herself to acknowledge.
Even so, she remains perfectly still throughout the inspection.
Doctor Irene’s expression gradually softens with quiet concern as she examines the injuries more closely.
Then her attention settles near Promeia’s neck.
“Hm…” She leans in slightly for a better look. “There’s some redness around your neck… Looks like an electrical burn.”
Promeia’s eyes lower briefly, as though recalling the exact moment the injury happened.
Doctor Irene guides her back down onto the medical bed afterwards, adjusting the pillow beneath her head before pulling the blanket higher across her chest to give her at least some sense of privacy despite the ongoing examination.
The fabric settles softly around her as Doctor Irene moves towards the nearby counter and retrieves a cooling burn treatment gel alongside several clean pads.
“This will feel a little cold.”
Promeia stays motionless while the treatment is applied against the reddened skin along her neck.
The cooling sensation spreads almost instantly across the irritated burn.
The sudden chill makes her flinch faintly beneath the blanket, her brows tightening ever so slightly before the reaction disappears again.
“A little stinging is normal.” Doctor Irene assures her calmly as she continues treating the burn. “It’ll go away pretty soon.”
The sharp sting gradually dulls beneath the cooling sensation while Irene works across the damaged area with steady precision.
For a while, the only sounds filling the room are the soft rustling of fabric, the rain outside, and the steady rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside the bed.
Once the burn treatment is finished, Doctor Irene disposes of the used materials before preparing another set of equipment nearby.
“Let’s hook you up to an IV once we’re done.”
Promeia’s eyes follow the IV bag briefly as Doctor Irene hangs it beside the bed and begins preparing the needle.
She takes one of Promeia’s hands and turns it beneath the clinic light, searching for a suitable vein before sliding the needle smoothly into place along the back of her hand and securing it neatly into place.
“All done, ma’am.” She says while adjusting the flow of the IV. “Your gear still needs repairs… so you should get some rest tonight.”
Promeia’s gaze drifts towards the clear fluid slowly travelling through the IV line.
Doctor Irene helps settle her clothing back into place, mindful not to disturb the fresh bandages before finally stepping away from the bedside.
The clinic lights dim soon afterwards, leaving only the muted glow of the monitoring equipment illuminating the room.
After one final glance towards Promeia’s condition, Doctor Irene heads for the door.
The room gradually darkens as she leaves, the soft click of it shutting blending quietly into the distant sound of rain outside.
Promeia stares silently into the darkness above her.
For a while, the steady rhythm of the monitor and the rain outside are enough to keep her thoughts distant.
Then, the instant Doctor Irene leaves, everything begins surfacing again.
Fragments of the mission replay themselves behind her eyes one after another.
The infiltration. The auction. The role she had been ordered to play.
To infiltrate the auction properly, she had allowed herself to be presented as merchandise during the underground auction. A living “product” displayed before the wealthy elite gathered beneath the glittering lights of the hall.
Even now, she can still remember the cold metal cage and the shock collar secured tightly around her neck.
Her fingers shift faintly against the bedsheets as phantom pain prickles beneath the treated burn.
The cooling medicine Doctor Irene applied earlier dulls most of the discomfort now, but the memory of electricity tearing through her body still lingers beneath her skin.
Then comes the memory of the platform rising towards the stage, carrying her into the blinding lights and the sea of waiting spectators above.
The auctioneer’s voice echoed loudly throughout the hall while one hand tangled tightly into her violet hair, forcing her head upwards beneath the glaring lights.
“Tonight’s crowning jewel… no, the rarest find this auction has ever seen!”
Masked figures filled the enormous hall, every eye locking onto her the second the cage emerged onto the stage.
Then the bidding began.
Paddles shot upwards across the room.
Numbers climbed relentlessly as overlapping voices drowned the room in greed and excitement. Behind elaborate masks, wealthy elites stared at her with blatant fascination, as though she were some rare exotic creature waiting to be bought and displayed.
To them, she was no longer a person. Only property. Entertainment. Something to be owned.
None of it held meaning to her.
The humiliation. The degradation. The way they appraised her like an object to be purchased.
All of it was irrelevant.
Only the mission mattered.
“Your target is the one wearing the ram mask, the organiser of this auction. Get rid of him.”
The order still echoes clearly in her mind.
Back then, while the bidding war raged around her, Promeia remained kneeling silently within the cage, outwardly obedient as her gaze swept across the sea of masks surrounding the stage.
Foxes…
Wolves…
Birds…
Demons…
Until finally, she found him.
Near the centre, partially obscured amongst the crowd.
A golden ram mask.
The instant her eyes landed on him, the rest of the room faded into irrelevance.
Target identified.
She never cared what she needed to endure in order to complete the mission.
She only needed to get out of the cage and eliminate the target.
After all, she is an escape artist. And if there is one thing escape artists are known for, it is escaping.
With a subtle flick of her leg beneath the folds of her cape, crescent-shaped blades hidden within the fabric launched forwards with deadly precision.
The cage burst apart instantly. Metal bars split cleanly through the centre as the blades tore through them before continuing directly towards the centre of the hall.
The ram mask shattered violently on impact.
Panic consumed the auction hall immediately afterwards. Screams erupted from every direction as armed guards rushed forwards amidst the chaos.
Ignoring the sharp pain tearing through her leg as shattered debris sliced into the skin above her ankle, Promeia burst through the ruined cage and lunged straight towards the target.
The distance vanished in seconds. The organiser barely had time to recoil before Promeia drove him onto the floor with a brutal kick
Then the security forces descended upon her. Armed guards flooded the hall from every direction.
And the slaughter began.
Despite being injured, Promeia still tore through them effortlessly.
Blood splashed across polished marble while shattered masks scattered beneath her feet. Gunfire roared deafeningly through the auction hall, yet Promeia moved through the chaos with terrifying precision, dismantling every opponent that stepped into her path as though it were routine work.
One after another, the guards collapsed before they could even comprehend what they were facing.
Just another mission.
Just another night soaked in blood.
Through it all, her expression never changed once.
The Boss could easily have assigned Zhao or Dailyn to handle an operation like this. Both of them would have been more than capable of dismantling the auction ring without much difficulty. Yet for whatever reason, she specifically chose her.
There is probably a reason for that, but Promeia never questioned the decision when the mission was first handed to her. She rarely questioned orders at all.
Following commands without hesitation had long since become second nature to her.
And that was how she ended up here now. Lying on a clinic bed beneath dim lights while Doctor Irene fusses over her injuries like an overly attentive caretaker.
“…”
The thought alone feels faintly absurd.
At first, Doctor Irene had been noticeably cautious around her.
Promeia still remembers the tension in her movements during those early visits, the careful distance she kept whenever she approached, as though worried a single wrong action might provoke her into violence and that Promeia might suddenly decide to slit her throat mid-treatment.
Honestly, it would not have been an entirely unreasonable fear considering her reputation within Krampus at the time.
But after enough visits, that fear gradually faded.
Now Doctor Irene speaks to her far too casually, scolds her whenever she neglects her health, and even teases her whenever the opportunity presents itself.
At some point, Promeia had apparently gone from the “dangerous Krampus Judge” to the “difficult patient.”
Not that Doctor Irene seems remotely intimidated by her anymore. Which, unfortunately for Promeia, also means Irene has grown far too comfortable around her.
Promeia closes her eyes briefly. She still finds the behaviour mildly unnecessary. Though admittedly… the doctor does consistently perform her work well.
So she chooses not to comment on it.
Her gaze drifts towards the IV bag hanging beside the bed instead, watching the clear liquid slowly drip through the line connected to the back of her hand.
This is not unusual either.
Doctor Irene is constantly complaining about her condition.
Dehydration. Overexertion. Poor nutrition. Lack of proper rest.
Apparently surviving almost entirely on the bare minimum and mission adrenaline does not qualify as a healthy lifestyle.
As a result, IV treatment has become a fairly common part of these visits, feeding fluids, nutrients, and medication back into her system while she lies there recovering whether she likes it or not.
“You should get some rest tonight.”
Doctor Irene’s earlier words linger faintly in the back of her mind.
Resting here overnight feels… wasteful.
The mission is already complete. The injuries are manageable. There is no reason for her to remain bedridden when she could simply return to Krampus and await her next assignment instead.
Or at least, that is what she tells herself.
In reality, the damage is far worse than she wants to admit.
The deep abrasion above her ankle still throbs beneath the fresh bandages. Bruises ache across her body with every slight movement, and exhaustion presses heavily against muscles already strained beyond their limits.
Even so, Promeia dismisses all of it instinctively.
Pain comes with the job.
Injuries are nothing new.
She has long since grown used to enduring both without complaint.
Besides… compared to some of the things she has survived before, this truly does feel minor to her.
After resting long enough to satisfy Doctor Irene’s instructions, or at least as long as Promeia is willing to remain still, she slowly pushes herself upright against the medical bed.
The movement immediately pulls at the injuries spread across her body.
A dull ache travels up her bandaged leg while bruises protest beneath her skin with every shift in posture. The IV line tugs faintly with the motion, the needle still embedded in the back of her hand.
Promeia lowers her gaze towards it briefly before pulling it free herself without hesitation.
The sharp sting barely earns a reaction.
A small bead of blood surfaces against her skin before she wipes it away with her thumb.
Afterwards, her attention drifts towards the heart monitor attached to her chest. One by one, she removes the sensors, silencing the steady rhythmic beeping that had filled the room throughout the night.
Then she swings her legs over the side of the bed.
The moment her bare feet touch the cold clinic floor, pain shoots through her injured leg.
Her balance wavers faintly as she rises, forcing one hand against the edge of the bed to steady herself while the fresh bandages around her ankle tighten painfully beneath her weight.
For several seconds, she remains motionless.
Once the dizziness passes, she simply ignores the discomfort and continues forwards as though nothing happened.
Her limp remains subtle beneath years of rigid discipline forcing her body to move normally despite the injury, though the unevenness in her steps becomes harder to hide as she crosses the dim clinic room towards the adjoining office where Doctor Irene left her belongings earlier.
Bare footsteps echo against the tiled floor before she finally reaches the door and pushes it open.
Inside, her restraints, boots, repaired blades, and cape rest neatly atop the nearby table exactly where Irene had placed them earlier.
The sight of them draws something colder and more guarded back across her expression almost instantly.
The moment the door opens, Doctor Irene looks up from the paperwork spread across her desk.
“Lady Promeia?”
Surprise flashes across her face as she notices Promeia already standing in the doorway.
Promeia turns her head slightly towards her before giving a small nod in acknowledgement. “Appreciate it… Like always.”
She walks further inside before sitting down nearby and begins dressing herself properly again.
First come the boots. She slides them carefully back into place, movements noticeably slower due to the fresh bandages wrapped around her lower leg. Pressure immediately returns against the wound once the straps tighten, but aside from the faint tension briefly crossing her face, she offers no complaint.
Next are the restraints. Metallic clicks echo through the clinic as the cuffs lock back around her wrists one after another.
Then finally, the cape. Dark fabric settles across her shoulders, concealing the bruises, bandages, and lingering vulnerability from earlier beneath its heavy folds.
One by one, Promeia retrieves the crescent-shaped blades Doctor Irene repaired and slides them back into their hidden positions beneath the cape with practised precision.
By the time she finishes, the exhausted patient from earlier has all but disappeared.
In her place stands the Krampus Judge once again.
Doctor Irene watches quietly from across the room before eventually offering a small smile.
“My pleasure.” She says warmly. “It’s always an honour to support your work, Judge.”
A brief pause follows before her expression softens slightly.
“Happy hunting.”
Promeia stills near the doorway before giving a small nod. “…Take care of yourself too, Doctor.”
The words are simple and blunt. Yet coming from Promeia, they somehow sound unexpectedly sincere.
Doctor Irene looks momentarily surprised by the response, though before she can reply, Promeia has already turned away.
The clinic door opens with a soft chime as cold night air rushes inside again.
Rain continues pouring heavily beyond the entrance while distant thunder rumbles overhead, neon lights shimmering across the soaked streets outside.
Without another word, Promeia steps back into the storm and disappears into the night.
Doctor Irene lets out a quiet sigh after the door closes behind Promeia.
For a moment, she watches the rain pouring heavily beyond the windows before eventually reaching for the phone resting nearby.
The call connects quickly.
“She’s all patched up as instructed.”
The Boss’s voice answers through the speaker soon afterwards, calm and composed as always.
“Very good.” A brief pause follows. “I’m guessing she left the moment you were done?”
Doctor Irene pinches the bridge of her nose tiredly.
“About what you’d expect from her.” She mutters while glancing towards the now-empty treatment room. “Though honestly, I’m a little worried this time.” Her eyes drift towards the storm raging outside the clinic windows. “The weather’s getting pretty severe.”
Thunder rumbles heavily overhead as rain lashes against the glass hard enough to rattle faintly through the room.
The Boss, however, sounds entirely unconcerned.
“Don’t worry.” She replies smoothly. “I trust she’ll be fine as she always has.”
Doctor Irene remains quiet for a second. Then she exhales softly. “…I suppose that’s true.”
“Thank you for patching her up.”
Doctor Irene gives a faint hum while beginning to tidy the remaining medical supplies scattered around the clinic.
“No problem.” She replies lightly. “Just doing my job.”
Meanwhile, several streets away, Promeia continues moving through the storm alone.
Rain lashes relentlessly against the city, soaking through the edges of her cape while thunder rumbles overhead hard enough to make distant neon signs flicker. Water splashes beneath her boots with every uneven step as she pushes through the near-empty streets.
At first, she maintains her usual controlled pace despite the injury.
However, gradually, the strain begins catching up to her.
Pain pulses sharply beneath the fresh bandages wrapped around her leg while bruises ache beneath soaked fabric. Exhaustion settles heavier against muscles already pushed far beyond their limits, and the combined effects of blood loss, overexertion, untreated fatigue, and whatever medication Doctor Irene administered earlier leave an unpleasant haze clouding the edges of her thoughts.
Even her sense of direction starts slipping.
The streets around her no longer feel familiar. Neon lights smear together beneath the downpour while alleyways blend into one another, the distant sounds of the city drowned beneath the storm and the growing pressure building inside her head.
Promeia blinks once, trying to force her vision back into focus, but the world only sways harder afterwards.
The cold no longer feels sharp.
It feels crushing.
Her breathing gradually grows less steady with every passing minute, each inhale heavier than the last, though she stubbornly keeps moving regardless.
Just a little further… The safe house cannot be much farther now.
At least… she thinks so.
Honestly, she is no longer certain where she even is anymore.
Another wave of dizziness crashes into her without warning. Streetlights stretch strangely across her vision as her footing stumbles briefly before stabilising again, noticeably weaker this time.
Rainwater runs steadily down her faintly flushed face while the streets tilt subtly out of alignment around her. Her injured leg nearly gives out once more before she forces herself upright again through sheer will alone, heat burning uncomfortably beneath skin already chilled by the storm.
Her eyelids begin feeling unbearably heavy. They slip shut for half a second, then longer.
Still, she forces them open again and takes another step. Then another. And another.
Until eventually, even her body reaches its limit.
Strength suddenly leaves her legs. Her knees buckle beneath her without warning as the world tilts violently sideways around her.
She collapses.
And just before she hits the pavement, a pair of arms catches her.
Strong hands pull her securely against their chest, stopping her fall before the soaked concrete can meet her. The sudden warmth barely registers through the haze swallowing her senses.
Everything around her feels distant now.
Muted. Disconnected.
She can barely make out the blurred figure holding her upright through the rain.
A voice reaches her faintly through the noise surrounding her.
“Promeia! Why… rain… You’re… freezing…”
The words sound muffled and distorted beneath the rushing static filling her ears.
Promeia’s eyes part weakly one last time, just enough to make out the vague outline of someone leaning over her.
Warmth…
That is the last thing she properly registers.
Then the remaining strength leaves her body entirely, and she falls limp against them as darkness finally overtakes her consciousness.