"Velanthris — The Arcanum Labyrinth. One of the seven great dungeons. It is… not like any other place in this world. It was created during the era when magic reached its peak. Back then, even children wove spells casually. Mana flowed like air."

She paused, excitement creeping into her tone again.

"The labyrinth is a library. A maze of infinite archives. A treasury of knowledge. It is said that everything the greatest mage in history learned, created, theorized, or discovered… is sealed within its floors."

Ariana almost shot out of her seat.

"W-WAIT— You mean that labyrinth? The legendary one?! The one scholars worship like some holy scripture?!"

Elisha nodded, smiling gently.

"Yes. That one."

Ariana was practically vibrating.

"A place filled with lost magic, forgotten runes, ancient spells—! Oliver, we HAVE to go!"

Oliver sighed. "That's… impressive, sure. But why us?"

Isolde smirked. "I can think of a few reasons."

Elisha leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.

"Simple. You're strong. Strong enough to survive the Evergrove, find the relics my ancestors died chasing, and return alive. And…" she glanced at Seraphine, "you carry power no one else in this kingdom possesses."

Seraphine blinked. "Acknowledged."

Elisha continued.

"The otherworlders arriving next week will be heading to Velanthris. Their goal is to challenge the dungeon's depths. And I intend to go with them. I want you all to join the expedition as my personal entourage."

Then she added softly:

"Anything you find inside… treasures, tomes, artifacts… will be yours."

Ariana clutched her chest dramatically.

"Oliver PLEASE. PLEASE. PLEASE—"

He held up a hand.

"…No."

Ariana froze mid-beg.

Elisha blinked. "You're declining?"

Isolde stared at him, slightly surprised.

Even Seraphine paused, processing the contradiction.

Oliver exhaled, leaning back.

"I've had enough life-or-death experiences these past weeks. Almost getting eaten by spiders, drakes, and ancient death-traps isn't my idea of a pleasant adventure."

He continued:

"And besides… dungeons full of magic libraries? That's basically a playground for maniacs like Ariana and Isolde. Not me. I'm not a bookworm."

Isolde elbowed him. "Excuse me, I am not a maniac."

Ariana pointed at him dramatically. "YOU HAVE SERAPHINE AND ISOLDE BESIDE YOU. HOW ARE YOU NOT EXCITED?!"

Oliver shrugged helplessly.

Elisha laughed softly.

"I thought you might say that. But think about it this way…"

Her voice grew quiet—gentle.

"You've already stepped into history once. Isn't it tempting… even a little… to see what lies deeper?"

Oliver hesitated at that.

Just a fraction.

Because deep inside… he was curious.

And Elisha saw it.

So she smiled.

"I won't pressure you. Take your time. The expedition begins next week. Think it over before giving your final answer."

*****

That night, the princess's palace felt unusually still.

From outside their window, only the soft rustle of banners and distant footsteps of patrolling knights could be heard. The moonlight cast a dim silver glow across the ornate guest chamber — clean, luxurious, far too elegant for two adventurers who were used to inns and campfires.

Oliver lay on the massive bed, hands folded behind his head, staring at the canopy above. His thoughts churned restlessly.

Beside him, Isolde shifted.

Her nightgown — thin, silky, scandalously loose on her perfect figure — brushed against his arm as she slid closer. She rested her head on his chest, fingers lightly drawing circles over his skin.

"You're thinking too loud," she murmured.

Oliver snorted. "Didn't realize thoughts make sound."

Isolde pinched his side lightly. "They do when it's you. Now… what is it?"

He hesitated.

"Nothing," he said.

"Don't lie." She lifted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing. "You're thinking about your friends from your world."

He sighed. "…Somewhat."

Oliver nodded.

Silence settled over them — heavy, but not suffocating.

Isolde shifted closer, her head resting fully on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"What's bothering you?" she asked.

"If you don't want to meet them, then don't. Elisha's invitation wasn't an order. No one is forcing you to join the expedition."

Her fingers curled against his skin.

"I will follow your decision," she whispered sincerely. "Always."

Oliver tightened his arms around her, pulling her close until their breaths mingled.

Her scent — warm, clean, faintly sweet — calmed the storm in his head.

Oliver wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, breathing in her warm, sweet scent. "I know. You'll always follow what I decide. But… I do want to join the expedition. I just don't want to run into them."

"Why?" Isolde asked. "Are you still afraid of them?"

Her tone wasn't mocking — just matter-of-fact. "You're not that weak Oliver anymore. You're strong enough to beat them. And besides… you have me. No one will lay a hand on you while I'm there."

He gave a defeated little laugh. "I don't know… It's not fear. I just… don't know how to react to them anymore." He stared up at the ceiling. "They probably forgot about me long ago. I was always the background character. And honestly? I don't even feel revenge anymore. Too much time passed."

He shifted slightly, brushing his thumb along her arm.

"If they hadn't pushed me, if they hadn't abandoned me… I never would've met you."

He smiled faintly. "So if anything… I should be thankful."

Isolde blinked at him, surprised — then settled again against his chest, her hair brushing his jaw.

"If you don't want to face them," she said, "then how about this?"

She raised her head again, eyes gleaming. "Join the expedition disguised."

Oliver turned his head. "Disguised?"

"Mhm." She poked his cheek lightly. "If no one recognizes you, then you can move freely. You can watch them from the shadows. See how they're doing. See what kind of people they became. And you won't have to talk to them unless you want to."

Her fingers slid across his chest again.

"It lets you join the mission… without the burden."

Oliver didn't respond immediately. His fingers absentmindedly combed through Isolde's hair as he processed her idea.

A disguise…

A way to join the expedition without dealing with awkward reunions.

Without pity.

Without the old memories dragging him back.

It almost sounded too simple.

"…You really think that would work?" he asked quietly.

Isolde shifted, raising her head to look at him properly. Her long silver hair slid over his chest like silk.

"Of course it would," she said. "Do you think humans from your world will recognize you if you change your appearance? You're not the same person anymore."

She tapped his nose lightly.

"Your body changed. Your face got sharper. You're taller. Stronger. Your aura alone is completely different."

Oliver blinked. "My… aura?"

Isolde tilted her head. "Yes. I told you before, remember? People who grow stronger feel different. Your presence is heavier now. It won't be easy for them to link you to the quiet, bullied boy from back then."

A faint smirk tugged at her lips.

"To them, you'll just look like another mysterious warrior."

Oliver let out a breath. "…That might not be bad."

Isolde's expression softened again, turning gentle.

"You've carried that old pain for a long time," she said. "And I'm not telling you to forgive them. Or to forget. But you don't need to run from it either."

She pressed her forehead to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

"If you meet them while hidden… you can observe them. Judge for yourself whether they've changed. Whether they deserve any place in your life."

Oliver's hand paused on her shoulder.

"…And if I decide I don't want anything to do with them?"

Isolde smiled — calm, certain.

"Then you turn away. And I'll be right behind you."

Silence settled between them. Warm. Comfortable.

Oliver exhaled again, this time in relief.

"…You really think about everything, don't you?"

"I have to," Isolde said, resting her chin on his chest. "Someone has to take care of you."

He rolled his eyes, but a small smile formed.

"Tch. I can take care of myself."

"Of course," she said, brushing her thumb across his jaw. "But it's nicer when I do it."

Oliver felt his cheeks heat slightly.

Before he could reply, Isolde continued:

"We can ask the royal tailor to prepare a different armour set for you. Different colors, different crest. Maybe even a mask."

Her eyes lit up playfully. "Masks are cool, right?"

"…I'm not wearing a mask."

"A hood?"

"No."

"A small face-cover?"

"Isolde."

She giggled, settling back onto his chest.

"Fine, no mask. But at least let me handle your disguise. I know what suits you."

Oliver groaned. "You're going to do whatever you want anyway."

"Exactly," she said sweetly. "So don't worry. I'll make sure no one recognizes you. And I'll stay with you the entire time."

He tightened his arms around her slightly.

"Yeah… That sounds good."

Isolde closed her eyes, her voice softening into a whisper.

"Then it's decided. Tomorrow, we join the expedition."

She paused. "But only on our terms."

Oliver felt something in his chest loosen — something he'd been holding for years without realizing. A strange mix of comfort, acceptance, and relief.

"…Thank you."

"You're welcome," she murmured, already drifting into sleep against him. "Now rest. You think too much."

Oliver stared at the ceiling one more time…

But this time, his thoughts felt lighter.

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