The dwarven gates—massive slabs of rune-etched stone—groaned open as Elder Thrain stepped through first, the other six elders fanning out behind him in a formation that commanded absolute authority. Behind them walked the Tower Master, elegant even in restraint, her veil fluttering faintly with each step. Luca remained close beside her, matching her pace instinctively, as if fearfully aware of her weakened state even though she hid it with perfect composure.

Inside the territory, the heat shifted.

Moments ago, when Luca had raced through this place, dwarves were sprinting across bridges, clattering hammers onto alarm bells, pulling weapons from racks, shouting orders across echoing forges. But now… that chaos had dissolved into an uneasy, prickling silence.

Dozens—hundreds—of dwarven citizens lined the pathways, their stout figures rigid with lingering tension. Their eyes followed the Tower Master with suspicion, curiosity, and poorly concealed awe.

"She's the woman who was attacking us?"

"I saw lightning splitting the mountain—was that her?"

"Why are they bringing her inside?"

"And why are there so many humans lately…?"

The murmurs slithered between the stone halls like smoke. Luca heard every whisper, every doubt, every suspicion suffocating the air around them. He quickened his steps, positioning himself a little closer to the Tower Master—subtle, respectful, but protective all the same.

Then—

click— flash— click— click—

A sudden flicker of light burst ahead.

Magical cameras.

Reporters.

At least a dozen human journalists swarmed the path leading toward the infirmary, dodging around dwarven guards as they held crystalline lenses toward the approaching group.

"Tower Master spotted inside dwarven territory—!"

"Why did she appear at the gates?"

"Is this a political alliance or a threat—?"

Elder Gromm's beard bristled. He muttered darkly under his breath, "Rats," with such gravelly contempt the word practically spat molten ore onto the floor.

Luca frowned sharply.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward—placing himself directly between the reporters and the Tower Master, shoulders squared, posture tall despite the exhaustion still dragging at his limbs.

The Tower Master slowed in surprise—and then a soft chuckle resonated from behind her veil.

"Why are you covering me, my disciple?" she asked quietly, voice laced with dry amusement, though a faint warmth hid beneath it. "Afraid even those reporters will harm me?"

Her tone teased lightly, but her eyes—sharp yet tired—studied his back carefully, as though reading the sincerity behind his actions.

Luca didn't turn around.

His voice was low, calm, unwavering.

"I don't want them to see you like this," he said. "People like them can twist anything into rumors. If your condition today becomes a headline—they may slander your name. I'm the one who asked you to seal your power. Whatever comes from this… I will take responsibility. No one will harm you or your honor."

A silence followed.

Not from discomfort—but from how quietly honest he had been.

He didn't see her expression.

He didn't notice how her eyes softened, how the corners subtly curved with something gentle.

But he did hear the faintest sound from beneath the veil—a small exhale of a chuckle, delicate and surprised.

Luca blinked, confused.

…She must think I'm just boasting like a child.

He shook his head slightly and walked forward, shielding her from another cluster of reporters until the dwarven guards finally cleared them out.

The group continued until they reached the heavy iron doors of the infirmary. Elder Huldor gestured for the guards to open them, his expression much softer now that they were close.

Inside, the room was quiet—dimly lit by mana crystals.

Selena lay on the bed, her skin pale but peaceful. Her hair spread across the pillow like frost dancing over moonlit glass. Bandages wound around her hands and wrists glowed faintly from enchantments.

And sitting right beside her—small, anxious, and determined—was Lilliane.

Her head lifted at the sound of footsteps.

The moment she saw who had entered—

Her eyes widened so fast she nearly stumbled backward out of her chair.

Seven dwarven elders.

Luca.

And in the center…

The Tower Master, veiled in white, her presence so powerful even sealed that the air seemed to bend subtly toward her.

Lilliane scrambled to her feet, her hands shaking as she pressed her palms together respectfully, giving a small, hurried bow.

"G-Greetings, honored elders… T-Tower Master…!"

The Tower Master didn't acknowledge the greeting right away.

Because the moment she stepped into the room—

her eyes found Selena.

And …

her composure cracked.

Not visibly.

Not dramatically.

Just a soft, sharp inhale—quiet enough that only Luca standing beside her could hear it.

But it was enough.

Enough to show that a mother had finally reached her child.

Her daughter lay before her, pale as moonlit snow, the edges of her bandages glowing softly.

The Tower Master moved forward quickly—graceful even in urgency—kneeling beside Selena's bed as if drawn by gravity itself. One gloved hand lifted, fingers brushing gently against Selena's cheek. Her touch was featherlight, as though she feared the girl might break beneath her fingers.

The whisper of her voice was soft… but every syllable carried immeasurable weight.

"May I be alone with my daughter?"

The elders exchanged glances, then nodded silently. One by one, they stepped out, leaving the Tower Master and Selena alone.

Luca followed suit. Lilliane hesitated but bowed nervously before leaving behind him.

Outside, the corridor was quieter than Luca expected. Mana lamps flickered softly, casting elongated shadows on the stone floor. Lilliane stood beside him, wringing her fingers anxiously.

Luca turned to her, his voice gentle.

"Thank you for looking after Selena."

Lilliane nodded, her green eyes reflecting genuine worry.

"I just… I hope she's fine."

"She will be." Luca gave her a reassuring nod. "Go rest for now. I'm pretty sure your mind's exhausted after everything today."

She nodded again, hesitated, then turned to leave.

But after two steps, she paused.

"What about you?"

Luca gave her a tired smile.

"I'll stay for a while. Don't worry."

Reluctantly, she left.

The moment she disappeared around the corner, Luca exhaled deeply, leaning his back against the wall. His body slid down inch by inch until he was sitting on the cold floor, head leaning back, exhaustion washing over him slowly.

He let his eyes close.

Just one minute…

Then—

"Luca, are you there?"

The voice was quiet… but unmistakable.

Luca snapped upright immediately. He pushed open the infirmary door and stepped inside.

The Tower Master was still at Selena's side, but she wasn't touching her now. Her hands rested on her lap, but the tension in her fingers betrayed the worry she was trying to hide.

"Yes, Master?" Luca stepped closer.

Her eyes lifted—sharp but dimmed slightly with concern.

"I want to check Selena's condition," she said. "Come here."

Luca approached without hesitation.

She didn't look at him while she spoke next—her gaze remained fixed on her daughter as though every moment she looked away risked losing her again.

"I have no mana to examine her. I need someone to act as my conduit." Her voice softened, losing the last traces of authority for something heavier. "I will guide you. Just follow exactly what I say… and tell me everything you feel."

Luca nodded.

The Tower Master placed two fingers lightly against Selena's wrist, then held out her other hand. Luca placed his palm over hers.

Her mana wasn't there—no warmth, no weight—but her guidance flowed like a whisper in his mind.

"Draw in your aura. Slowly. Let it settle just beneath your skin."

Luca inhaled.

Mana surged in him like a tide, warm and obedient.

"Now… extend it gently. Not like a spell. Like… like letting a warm breeze touch someone."

He followed.

His aura brushed across Selena's body—hesitant at first—then sank deeper, slipping into the flow of her mana channels.

And immediately—

He winced.

A jagged cold jolt shot through his arm. Then a pricking numbness.

Her channels were frayed—strained in places—like cracks in an ice sculpture.

There were patches of lingering residue where ice and lightning had clashed violently.

And…

Luca's breath hitched.

There was something else—

a hollow ache.

A pressure.

A sense of emotional rupture that clung like frostburn.

It wasn't physical.

It was… grief.

Fear.

Something deeply wounded that had torn her consciousness into a storm.

He withdrew slightly, breaking the connection with a staggered breath.

The Tower Master didn't move, didn't breathe—waiting.

"What did you feel?" she asked quietly.

Luca steadied his heart.

"Her mana channels are… fatigued. Like they were stretched too thin," he began slowly. "There's lingering residue from both her elements. They crashed into each other violently."

He exhaled, searching for words.

"It felt cold. Not like her ice—something sharper. And there was this… pressure. Like she was overwhelmed by something inside."

The Tower Master listened without blinking, her lashes lowered, her shoulders held firmly in perfect posture—even as her knuckles whitened faintly beneath her gloves.

After a moment, she let out a slow, shuddering exhale.

"…She is stable," she murmured. "At least for now."

Her voice softened—just slightly.

"But…"

She didn't finish.

Her lips parted—then closed.

Her fingers twitched—once—then folded neatly again.

Her spine stayed straight, but a faint tension settled into her shoulders.

It looked like a silent battle.

Luca watched her carefully.

"What is it, Master?" he asked gently.

She hesitated.

For three seconds.

For someone like her… even that was monumental.

Finally, she turned her head slightly—not enough to show vulnerability, but enough to show sincerity.

"Luca," she said quietly, "what caused her to go into mana dissociation?"

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