He looked around. The air still shimmered faintly with residual mana, the last traces of the temple's collapse fading into the forest.

Beyond that, quiet — the kind of eerie quiet that only came after something catastrophic.

The knights, bruised and exhausted, began clearing debris and checking equipment. Ariana used what little mana she'd recovered to mend a few wounds. Elisha sat beside the campfire Ronald had hastily built, her expression distant — thoughtful.

Oliver watched her for a moment, then turned his gaze toward Seraphine. The construct stood motionless by the edge of the firelight, staring into the trees as if scanning something invisible.

"You don't eat, do you?" Oliver asked absently.

Her silver eyes flicked toward him.

"Negative. Sustenance not required. I draw ambient mana for maintenance."

"Figures." He sighed and plopped down beside the fire, too tired to think further.

Isolde joined him a moment later, crossing her legs gracefully, though her expression softened as she looked around the camp — at Ariana tending wounds, at knights trying to look composed, at the princess hugging her knees silently.

"This forest hasn't shown us its full hand yet," she said quietly. "That temple wasn't a treasure vault. It was a tomb."

Oliver nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward Seraphine, whose silver body reflected the flickering firelight like living metal.

"Yeah," he murmured. "And we just woke up what was buried inside."

The fire crackled softly.

Above them, the stars began to pierce through the canopy — cold and distant.

No one spoke for a long time.

And in the faint glow of the campfire, Seraphine stood perfectly still, watching the humans — her runes pulsing faintly in rhythm with the fire's light, like she was trying to understand the warmth she couldn't feel.

******

The campfire crackled low, casting long, flickering shadows across the tired faces of those who survived. The smell of roasted meat mingled with smoke and faint iron — the lingering scent of battle and dust.

Oliver sat a few feet away from the fire, watching Elisha quietly. She was sitting on a piece of cloth spread on the ground, her once-glorious white cloak now torn and dirt-stained, her golden hair dimmed with ash. Yet, in the warm glow of the flames, she looked peaceful for the first time since this journey began.

He hesitated for a moment, then walked over and crouched beside her. "How are you feeling?"

Elisha looked up, surprised at first, then smiled faintly. "I'm fine now. A little sore, but I'll live."

Oliver scratched the back of his head, unsure how to start. The silence between them stretched until the words finally spilled out. "Elisha… don't you feel… resentful toward me?"

She blinked, tilting her head. "Resentful? For what?"

"For… taking the treasure." His voice was quiet, almost guilty. "I mean, that thing — the construct, Seraphine — it was what your ancestors died looking for. And now it's… bound to me."

For a moment, she just looked at him — then softly chuckled. "Why would I be resentful?"

Her laughter was small, but warm — like the first crack of sunlight after a storm. "If it weren't for you, I'd have joined my ancestors down there in that tomb."

He blinked, a bit stunned by her calmness. "Still, I—"

"Besides," she interrupted, her tone lighter, "that treasure was never really my goal. We didn't even know what it was."

Elisha leaned back slightly, looking toward the dark forest. The flames painted gold highlights in her hair as she spoke. "As I mentioned before, my true goal was the Heart of Elaris. The relic my ancestor took on his doomed expedition — the one that was never recovered."

Her hand moved toward her chest, and from beneath her torn dress, she drew out a small crystal sphere no larger than a walnut. It glowed faintly — a soft, tranquil light pulsing with a rhythm like a heartbeat.

"This," she said softly, gazing at it with reverence. "The Heart of Elaris."

The glow reflected in her eyes, serene but full of meaning. "I found it among the rubble before the temple collapsed. It was inside one of the old knight's armor, still pulsing faintly. I guess… it was waiting for someone to take it home."

She closed her fingers around it gently and tucked it back beneath her clothes. "So you see… I got what I came for."

Oliver exhaled slowly. "Then you're satisfied?"

Elisha smiled, but there was something bittersweet behind it. "More than that. The knights also recovered relics from the fallen soldiers of that ancient expedition. Their armor, their swords, artifacts… all lost for centuries. With this, the Emperor and the ministers will finally acknowledge my worth."

Her voice hardened slightly, though her eyes softened again as she looked into the fire. "I'll no longer be that 'insignificant princess' they can sell off for a political marriage."

Oliver's shoulders eased, the knot of guilt in his chest finally unwinding. "I see," he said quietly. "That's… good to hear."

When she looked at him again, her smile was genuine — tired, but real. "Thank you, Oliver. Really."

Before he could answer, Ronald's deep voice rang out from near the fire. "Dinner's ready!"

Oliver chuckled under his breath and stood up, brushing the dust from his trousers. "Guess that's our cue."

"Yeah," Elisha said softly, standing with him.

They walked back toward the fire, where the surviving knights were already gathered — the fatigue on their faces momentarily softened by laughter and the smell of warm food. The meal was simple: roasted meat from some forest beast, tough but surprisingly savory.

It wasn't a royal banquet. It wasn't elegant. But after everything, it tasted like victory.

Oliver sat beside Isolde, who wordlessly passed him a wooden cup of water. Around them, Ariana was laughing weakly with two knights over whose armor had melted worse during the basilisk fight. Ronald sat silently at Elisha's side, his expression finally easing for the first time in days.

Stories began to flow — near-death experiences told with tired humor, wounds turned into jokes, fear buried beneath forced laughter.

Half the knights who had set out on this expedition were gone, their graves marked hastily in the soil not far from the campfire. Yet the ones who remained still smiled. That was a knight's way of honoring the fallen.

Elisha's gaze lingered on the fire. "They'll be compensated," she said quietly, almost to herself. "Their families won't suffer for their loyalty."

Oliver caught her words and nodded once.

The night deepened. One by one, voices grew quiet, replaced by the soft crackle of dying embers and the faint whisper of the forest.

Elisha eventually retired to her tent, her silhouette vanishing behind its folds of canvas. Ronald and the knights took up the watch, their armor clinking softly in the dark.

Isolde leaned against a tree, eyes half-closed. "Tomorrow, we head back," she murmured.

"Yeah," Oliver said, staring at the faint glow of Seraphine standing motionless near the edge of camp — her body reflecting the starlight like a silent sentinel.

He sighed. "Finally."

The fire crackled once more before settling into embers.

The night swallowed the sound.

*****

The morning came quietly.

A mist hung over the trees, turning the forest into a sea of pale silver. Birds began to sing somewhere high above, but the ground was still heavy with the scent of ash, damp soil, and smoke from the dying campfire.

Oliver was the first to stir. He stretched, his joints cracking as he rose from the makeshift bedroll. The ache in his body was dull now, the aftereffects of too much adrenaline and too little sleep. He looked around — the camp was calm. Elisha was already awake, speaking quietly with Ronald as they packed the remaining supplies. Ariana sat by the coals, muttering a small restoration spell to reheat the leftover meat.

And then, by the treeline, stood her.

Seraphine-01.

Unmoving as a statue. Her silver body caught the morning light, making her glow faintly in the mist. The air around her shimmered slightly, like invisible heatwaves bending reality itself. She looked less like a person and more like something that had stepped out of legend — too perfect, too still, too alive to be human.

Oliver rubbed his eyes. "Do you even sleep?" he asked dryly.

Her head tilted slightly at the sound of his voice.

"Negative. Sleep is unnecessary for my maintenance cycle. Observation mode active throughout the night."

"You've been… standing there all night?"

"Affirmative. I have been recording atmospheric mana fluctuations, temperature variations, and biological respiration patterns of all present individuals."

Oliver blinked. "You were watching us sleep?"

"Observation ensures safety," she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Isolde, who was just stepping out of her tent, froze mid-yawn. "She was what?"

Seraphine turned her gaze toward her.

"Subject 'Isolde'— highest magical output detected among current group members. Observation priority adjusted accordingly."

Isolde frowned. "You were monitoring my mana flow in my sleep?"

"Affirmative."

The silence that followed was so heavy even the birds quieted.

Ariana whispered to Oliver, "She's going to kill her."

Oliver sighed and quickly stepped between them. "Right, right, okay — maybe next time, uh, ask for permission before doing that."

Seraphine blinked, processing that.

"Acknowledged. Permission protocol: acquired."

Isolde pinched the bridge of her nose. "If that's what counts as 'permission protocol,' I'm going to lose my mind before we even leave this forest."

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