Chapter 101 - Dungeon - IX
Dália regained consciousness as if someone were dragging her up from a bottomless well. Pain greeted her first a phantom knife buried in her temple, pulsing in perfect sync with her racing heartbeat. Each throb was a stab, each breath a herculean effort.
She tried to open her eyes, but even the dim, diffuse light cut into her vision like blades. A groan escaped her cracked lips, and she immediately tasted the metallic tang of dried blood in her mouth. Nausea followed a revolting wave that made her stomach clench violently, as if trying to expel something that was no longer there.
"Damn it..."
Her own voice sounded hoarse and strange, as if it belonged to someone else. She tried to sit up, but the simple motion sent the world spinning violently. Her trembling hands slipped on the damp ground, and she collapsed back with a dull thud that echoed inside her skull like a drumbeat.
Her vision doubled. For one disorienting moment, she saw two walls, two ceilings, four shaking hands in front of her face.
A high-pitched ringing invaded her ears, muffling all other sounds. When she touched her head, her fingers found something sticky in her hair—coagulated blood, mixed with dirt and fragments of stone.
Her breathing quickened. Her pulse hammered in her neck, too fast, too erratic. Something warm trickled from her nose, and when she wiped it with the back of her hand, she saw bright red staining her pale skin. Blood. Again.
"Con... concussion," she murmured to herself, recognizing the symptoms with the residual clarity of an experienced healer.
Every thought was a titanic effort. Her mind felt submerged in molasses, ideas forming and unraveling before she could fully grasp them.
Where was she?
What had happened?