After the Battle

Johan slowly opened his eyes, only to be greeted by the soft glow of a crystal lantern hanging from the ceiling. The faint sound of water dripping echoed in the distance, creating an oddly peaceful atmosphere. Yet his head felt heavy, and his body was still weak from the curse and his wounds.

"Urgh…" Johan groaned, massaging his throbbing temples. "Where am I?"

His eyes scanned the room—a spacious chamber with stone walls intricately carved in the distinctive patterns of the Dwarves. In the corner, there was a small table cluttered with potion bottles and basic medical tools. The bed he lay on felt sturdy, made of hardwood and covered with thick woolen blankets.

The door across the room opened, and a Dwarven soldier entered. His face carried an air of authority, though his eyes betrayed a hint of concern.

"So, you're finally awake," the soldier said with a tone of relief. "You almost didn't make it, human."