Late at night, William limped his way back home. Every step was a struggle, each movement a sharp reminder of the battles fought and the physical toll it had taken on him. But more than the physical pain, it was the heaviness in his heart that weighed him down.
Once he arrived at his bedroom, he managed to wipe his body with a wet towel, grimacing at every touch to his wounds. The pain was real and raw, but it was nothing compared to the empty space Nyx's absence had left in his soul.
He didn't bother putting on new clothes; it felt like too much effort. His left shoulder throbbed, dislocated and aching. The claw mark on his chest was a brutal reminder of his encounter with the Nightshade King, the flesh exposed and the wound still fresh. His ribs, some broken, sent waves of agony with each breath, and his spine's grave pain had him suspecting a crack.