The Forgeheart Arena had never been this silent.

The rumbling magma veins beneath the stone seemed to quiet themselves, the usual furnace-warm air frozen in a suffocating stillness. Even the reporters—normally the loudest creatures in any crowd—lowered their cameras slightly, fingers hovering over the shutter crystals without pressing them.

Lilliane lay collapsed on the blackstone floor, her body curled in on itself like a frightened child.

Her breath hitched.

Her fingers twitched.

Her lips quivered with words that shouldn't have been spoken aloud.

"Aiden… no…"

"You can't do this to me…"

"You… you cannot abandon me…"

Her voice was so thin it barely reached the front row.

But to Luca—it felt like a dagger.

He hit the arena floor first, landing with a hard thud that rattled his bones.

Selena and Sylthara landed a heartbeat later, both skidding across the ground before rushing forward.

"Lilliane!!"

"Lilli—look at me!"

"Wake up! Please!"

But Lilliane didn't wake.

Her body spasmed—shoulders jerking violently once, twice—her breath turning sharp and broken.

Luca grabbed her instantly, hands supporting her head and shoulders, pulling her upright enough so she wouldn't hit the stone again.

"Hey—hey, Lilliane! Look at me. Look at me!"

His voice trembled.

Not with fear—

but with realization.

I knew something like this might happen…

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening.

But after she told me she wanted distance from Aiden… after she said she wanted to grow stronger alone for this trip… I thought… I hoped… it meant she was ready to face something like this.

Lilliane's face, pale with terror, twisted into a sob as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Aiden… please…"

"Don't leave me…"

"Don't… go…"

Her fingers clawed desperately at Luca's sleeve, as if trying to hold onto someone who wasn't there.

Luca froze.

And in that moment—

an image flashed through his mind.

One he had seen in the game.

One he had never wanted to see in reality.

A battlefield under a sun the color of dying embers.

Corpses piled like broken dolls.

And in the center—

A woman.

Pink-haired.

Blood-soaked.

Standing alone with a corrupted smile carved onto her ruined face—

a sword stabbed through her chest—

and eyes empty of everything except madness.

…No.

Luca squeezed his eyes shut.

No, I won't let that be her fate. Never.

He shook his head violently, pushing the memory away.

---

Above — The Elder's Platform

A long, heavy sigh drifted down from the high platform.

Everyone—Luca, Selena, Sylthara—looked up.

Elder Huldor stood with both hands resting on the railing, his beard unmoving, eyes dim with something that looked like regret.

"I regret it…" he said quietly, voice carrying far more weight than his words. "I truly regret it."

The other elders glanced at him sharply.

Huldor's gaze lowered to Lilliane—still trembling in Luca's arms.

"That girl…" he continued, voice deepening with grief, "she can never be a rune master."

Sylthara stiffened.

Selena's expression tightened.

Luca looked up sharply.

"She is far too fixated on one thing," Huldor murmured. "Her heart… her mind… it is bound to a single point. Too tightly."

His hands curled into fists.

"And I fear…"

He looked down at her with eyes full of sorrow.

"…that fixation may someday destroy her."

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

His silence felt heavier than the mountains.

---

The announcer rushed into the center, his expression drawn and uneasy.

He looked at Lilliane, then at the grim elders, then swallowed.

"In today's trial…"

His voice faltered.

He forced it out anyway.

"…our challenger has failed."

No cheer rose.

No dwarf stomped their boots.

No reporter shouted with excitement.

The arena felt wrong.

Wrongly quiet.

Wrongly heavy.

The magical cameras resumed clicking—

but far slower, as if unsure whether capturing this moment was appropriate.

Human nobles leaned back in their seats, lips curling in mild disappointment.

"Tch."

"Predictable."

"That family never amounts to much anyway."

Luca ignored them all.

He picked Lilliane up carefully—her head resting against his shoulder, her breath soft and uneven.

Sylthara walked beside him, biting her lip as she watched tears still lingering at the corner of Lilliane's eyes.

Selena followed silently, her brow furrowed in a way that betrayed deeper concern than she wanted to show.

Sylthara whispered, "Will she… be alright?"

Before Luca could answer—

they reached the end of the arena floor.

And someone was already standing there.

The Tower Master.

Her veil floated faintly, her posture straight, her presence overwhelming despite the sealed mana. Her eyes flicked from Lilliane to Luca with sharp calculation—then softened by a degree when they landed on the unconscious girl.

"Hand her to me," she said gently, extending her arms.

Luca obeyed without hesitation, lifting Lilliane into her embrace.

The Tower Master held her with surprising gentleness, one hand supporting her back, the other brushing stray hair from her forehead.

"She will wake soon," she murmured.

But then—

Her expression changed.

Just a flicker.

Barely noticeable.

But it was there.

The faint tightening of her jaw.

The soft narrowing of her eyes.

The hesitant breath she took before continuing.

"…but," she said quietly.

Selena stepped forward immediately.

"But what?" she demanded.

The Tower Master lowered her gaze to Lilliane—

and for the first time, her voice carried something rare:a delicate, restrained fear.

"She will wake soon…

but I am afraid her heart and mind may not be intact."

She looked at Luca.

"At least… not in the way it was before."

And the weight of her words settled over them like a silent storm.

They all fell silent at the Tower Master's words.

Her heart may not be intact.

None of them understood what that truly meant.

Sylthara blinked, ears lowering as she asked softly, "W-what does… that mean? Not intact?"

The Tower Master exhaled—a long, quiet breath filled with weight.

Not irritation.

Not impatience.

Something else.

Memory.

Regret.

"This is why the Forgeheart Crucible was stopped years ago," she said softly. "Even if politics were the main reason… the death of that noble was a reason as well."

Her fingers brushed Lilliane's cheek, gentle but measured.

"She has experienced the deepest trauma her mind could manifest… and lived it. Fully. Her heart shattered inside that illusion, and she felt every fracture as if it were real."

Luca tightened his jaw.

Sylthara swallowed.

Selena's eyes narrowed with rare, genuine worry.

Tower Master continued, voice low, steady, clinical.

"Her consciousness survived. Her sanity endured. That is… remarkable. But tell me—"

her gaze lifted, meeting theirs one by one,

"how do you think a mind returns from watching its world fall apart from the inside?"

All three looked at Lilliane—peaceful now, but fragile.

Too fragile.

A small tremor moved through Luca's hand.

Did I…?

Did I hasten the path she was destined to walk?

His heart squeezed painfully.

Did I just push her closer to that future I swore to avoid?

He saw again—

that pink-haired woman from the game—

standing in blood, smiling through madness.

He shook the image off, sharp and violent.

Tower Master noticed—her eyes softened just slightly.

"Do not worry too much," she said gently. "There is a chance she will be fine. She endured far more illusions than most could survive. That speaks of strength… not fragility."

Her voice dipped into something almost warm.

"She fought. She broke through. She survived. That is what matters."

They all nodded—but the heaviness didn't leave their shoulders.

---

High Platform — The Elders

High above the arena, the dwarven council stood in unusual silence.

Elder Hilda crossed her arms, her fiery braids swaying as she turned to Elder Huldor.

"You truly regret it," she said quietly, studying his face.

Elder Huldor looked older than any of them had seen him—eyes heavy, beard still, fingers motionless over the runes carved into his gauntlets.

He nodded slowly.

"That girl… possesses all basic and advanced elements," he murmured. "Do you understand what that means… for rune mastery?"

Hilda's brows furrowed.

"She could have achieved what none ever have," Huldor whispered, eyes drifting toward Lilliane being carried away. "Carve runes the world has never seen. Bend elements into strokes no dwarf could replicate. She could have reshaped the entire art of rune craft."

His hands curled slowly.

"But now…"

He looked down.

"…her mind may never withstand even magic again."

A deep sadness settled over his features.

All the elders stayed quiet—no dwarf mocked, no dwarf grunted, no dwarf smirked.

Even Elder Brokk lowered his gaze.

Regret was a heavy thing.

And it sat on all their shoulders.

---

Back to the Arena Floor

The announcer—who had been silent for far longer than usual—finally stepped forward again.

He cleared his throat, though his voice carried a faint unsteadiness.

"So…" he called out, forcing enthusiasm into his tone, "are you ready for the next challenger?!"

His gaze swept the arena—

then landed squarely on one spot.

The challengers' stand.

Luca's group.

The announcer's eyes narrowed with expectation, almost provocation.

All eyes turned to them—dwarves, humans, nobles, elders.

Luca watched Lilliane being carried into the infirmary…

then slowly lifted his head.

His eyes sharpened.

His posture straightened.

His expression steadied.

Without a single word—

Luca stepped forward.

And the entire arena felt it.

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