The moment Xion remembered the three people who were about to attack him, his eyes flew wide. He hastily pushed Darius away. "Those people—"
"Don't think about them," Darius interrupted gently, not even letting him turn his head. "They'll be dealt with."
And they had been.
Those three, along with their so-called holy healer, were already sprawled across the blood-stained snow, pinned to the ground.
The green mana, now pulsing more like a venomous tide than a roaring storm, had lashed them down. They couldn't even scream, let alone move.
The guards had layered more spells atop that, rendering them completely helpless.
"You're hurt," Darius murmured, finally letting himself take in the full state of Xion's battered condition. He frowned, "Let's get you healed."
His words fell, and without giving Xion any chance, he directly scooped him up in his arms.
Then, the frown on Darius's face deepened as he registered how alarmingly light Xion was.
