Chapter 91 — Daelan POV
I'm dragged through a gauntlet of tests, no matter how many times I insist I'm fine. No one listens. Not the doctors. Not the medical assistants. Definitely not my goddess. And certainly not her father.
The private Morne infirmary smells like polished steel and medicinal herbs, lined with state-of-the-art machines imported from beyond the capital. The walls are white marble veined with faint blue mana lines, subtly glowing in rhythm with the estate's security enchantments. The ceiling is impossibly high, a dome of tempered crystal that lets in sunlight but filters out harsh rays. Everything about this place is quiet luxury—precise, cold, perfect.
I lie on a medical recliner designed to sense shifts in mana density, and even though my vitals are perfectly stable, the poking and prodding continues. The physician, a narrow-eyed man with silver-framed glasses and trembling fingers, takes a cautious step back when he notices my glare.
