Damascus immediately crossed the room and knelt beside him.
"Stop what you're doing, human!"
Without waiting for a reply, he grabbed Ellio's wrist and carefully pulled it away from the shattered pieces of the bowl. His movements were much gentler than his words, as though he was afraid the human would only injure himself further if he remained there.
His eyes instinctively fell to the hand he was holding.
Small cuts and deeper gashes were scattered across Ellio's fingers and palm, inflicted by the sharp fragments of the broken bowl. Yet despite the severity of the wounds, something immediately caught Damascus' attention.
There was no blood.
Not a single crimson drop flowed from the fresh cuts.
His brows slowly furrowed as realization settled over him. The injuries should have bled
