[Mass release 1/6]
In the quiet infirmary, Rivet sat alone on one of the many white-sheeted beds. His face was buried in a soft pillow, but the comfort it offered barely touched the pain he was experiencing—not physically, but mentally.
His thoughts spiraled in on themselves, his mind a battlefield of shame and regret.
Silver had done all she could. Her healing abilities had stabilized him, stopped the bleeding, and numbed the agony. But the stump remained—a painful reminder of what was lost. His right arm was gone, most likely forever.
She had told him gently, almost apologetically,
"If your other half arm had been recovered... I could have reattached it. But without it... you'll just have to live with this."
The words had been simple, clinical, yet devastating.