The embers glowed, spewing black smoke into the sky. The winds of the storm, broken by the surrounding foliage fanned the infant flames to a hearty fire. If his assailant tailed him, this beacon would only help them finish the job. That though lingered in the back of the assassin's mind with a groan from his lips. The shelter and reaching warmth of the blaze finally gave his wound some time to close. Small fibers of calcified bone reached across the meaty gap and locked with one another. A lattice began to form, much slower than his expected normal and through a focused effort of will.

His vision still fringed on darkness, only his second sight illuminating Scarlet's silhouette in the sea of vague shadows. He heard her voice, and turned the corner of his lips into a weak smile.

"Get used to it," he murmured in reply. "Mortals die. Magic can only go so far, but death will always come."

He opened his eyes, but the world still failed to come into view. Despite his blindness, he looked toward the direction he sensed her.

"Not for you," he added. "No, not for you."

His head fell backward against the mossy bark. Lightning crackled across the sky and thundered in his ears. Fiber by fiber, his bones reached to weave his wound.