Her name and year of birth were requested by the woman looming over her, and though a wave of reluctance washed over her, Onyxia exhaled a heated breath and replied, “Onyxia, 1706.” The significance of this information confused her, but she had little energy left to care about its relevance. All she truly wanted was to rest, to surrender to the comforting embrace of sleep until Ruel whisked her away from this chaos.
As the woman moved closer, giving her a solid look over, she began to ramble on about matters of war, battles fought, and her purpose here. But none of it penetrated Onyxia’s weary mind. The words became a distant murmur, fading into the background noise of her exhaustion. All she could focus on was the promise of relief—the assurance that this woman would soon be out of her hair, leaving her to the peace she so desperately craved.
Onyxia rolled her head slightly to the side, catching the monochromatic woman’s gaze. “Oh?” she echoed sharply, the tone laced with irritation. “Oh, what?” Was there something wrong? Had she discovered a deep, infected wound or perhaps some hidden bite marks? The thought made her restless, and she strained to peer at whatever it was the medic found so captivating. But from her angle, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just her weary form, battered but alive, waiting for the next move.
As the medic continued to examine her with a look that oscillated between concern and curiosity, Onyxia’s heart raced with a mix of dread and anticipation. She was oblivious to the fact that the news about to be revealed would take her completely by surprise. All she could do now was wait, clinging to the hope that Ruel would arrive soon and rescue her from this bewildering situation.