The depths of their injuries and sickness showed when they woke not within the haven, but on soft beds. Both Gladio and Ignis were tucked up into beds, but as it turned out, not in the same room. Ignis' wounds had been tended to and he had been washed, but only time would fully take away all of the damage done. The faint, familiar taste of potions would linger on his tongue, potions used to handle the internal damage.

But he wasn't alone in his room. On a chair near the door sat, of all people, Cor Leonis, carefully working a whetstone over the length of the katana in his lap, the quiet ringing repetitive as he worked to correct a nick in the blade.