The chamber they stumbled into was quiet, almost unnervingly so. Ancient statues lined the cracked walls—winged figures carved from stone, their faces eroded to featureless masks. Dust blanketed the floor in thick layers, yet the air felt wrong, heavy, as though the place itself was still alive.

Noel dragged a boot across the ground and sat down heavily against one of the statues. He struck his fingers together, a thin arc of fire sparking into being. "Fire Arc." A controlled flame flared to life, hovering low over the ground, giving the chamber a dim, orange glow.

Selene settled beside him, her wand resting across her lap. Her breathing was steadier now, though her shoulders slumped in a way Noel wasn't used to seeing. She was always poised, composed—tonight she just looked… tired.

"You almost burned yourself out back there," Noel said lightly, watching the fire dance.

Her cyan eyes cut to him, sharp as ever. "And you didn't?"

He smirked faintly, holding up Revenant Fang so the cursed blade caught the light. "Difference is, I'm used to it."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, her gaze lingered on the flames, her fingers brushing against the ground as though grounding herself. After a moment she admitted, "I pushed further than I should have. Those things weren't… ordinary."

Noel's expression sobered. He let the silence stretch, the crackle of the flame filling the gap. "No kidding. If those are the welcoming party, whatever's deeper in here is going to be worse."

Selene shifted against the wall, pulling her cloak tighter. "Then we'll have to stay close. No mistakes."

For once, Noel didn't argue. He nodded, eyes flicking toward the shadowed corridor ahead.

'Yeah. No mistakes.

The remains of the automaton lay in the center of the chamber, still smoking faintly where Revenant Fang had cut through its helm. Its body looked humanoid, but twisted—plated in silver-white alloy, joints too seamless, too fluid for anything forged by modern smiths.

Noel crouched beside it, tilting his head. He tapped a finger against the metal plating. "Looks like armor. Just… oversized."

"Armor doesn't move on its own," Selene said flatly. She had knelt down across from him, her wand tip glowing faintly with icy light to illuminate the wreckage.

"Yeah, but it falls the same way," Noel muttered. He grabbed a shard of the plating and pried it loose, frowning at the weight. "It's dense and it feels like iron mixed with something else. Whatever it is, Revenant Fang sliced through it easy enough."

Selene's gaze was fixed on the automaton's chest, where faint lines of mana circuitry pulsed faintly even in death. Runes etched into the core glimmered with residual light—circles within circles, so intricate that even her sharp mind struggled to follow them.

"This isn't…" Her voice lowered, almost to herself. "Even in all Valor, nothing like this exists. This level of refinement… I don't understand it."

Noel blinked, straightening. "Wait. You don't?"

Her eyes flicked up, sharp. "Do I look like I do?" She gestured to the shattered rune-work, the almost-living core. "This is centuries ahead of us. And yet here it is, buried under ruins no one's set foot in for generations."

Noel frowned, but only shrugged. "Doesn't matter if it's advanced or not. It bled mana and it died when I cut it down. That's all I need to know."

Selene's grip tightened on her wand, unease flickering in her gaze. 'If even I can't understand this… then what exactly did we stumble into?'

Noel staggered back against the cracked stone wall, his breath ragged. The rush of battle had faded, but the aftershocks of Revenant Fang's trait were gnawing at his body now. Every muscle burned, tendons pulling tight as if fire had been woven into his veins. He clenched his jaw, forcing his breathing into a rhythm.

Selene stepped closer, her wand lowering completely. "You're hurt."

"No," Noel muttered, though his knees nearly buckled. He caught himself against the wall, forcing a half-smirk. "Just… paying the bill."

Her eyes narrowed, the faintest crease of worry touching her brow. Without another word, she moved to his side, slipping an arm around him to guide him toward a flat section of the ruined hall. The weight of him leaned heavier than he liked to admit.

"Sit," she said simply.

He obeyed, sinking down until the ache dulled to a low throb. Selene hesitated only a second before lowering herself beside him. When he tilted forward, she shifted awkwardly, letting his head rest against her lap.

The position made heat flare across her cheeks, but she kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, refusing to look down. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her skirt, betraying nerves she'd never admit.

Noel let out a low exhale, eyes slipping shut. "Guess this… works better than a stone pillow."

Selene's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't answer, but her hands hovered near his shoulders, as if debating whether to touch him. Instead she sat stiffly, heart racing faster than the battle had ever managed.

To the outside, she was stone—serious, cold as ever. But inside, she was burning.

Noel's breathing steadied. For the first time since entering the sanctuary, he allowed himself to rest.

Selene stayed perfectly still, every muscle locked as though the slightest shift might wake him. Noel's weight rested warm and solid against her thighs, his blond hair falling slightly into his face. His breathing had evened out, slow and steady—the unmistakable rhythm of sleep.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. 'Calm. Just stay calm.'

It was harder than any battle she'd fought that day. The sanctuary's silence pressed in around them, broken only by the faint crackle of distant mana veins. Normally she would have welcomed the quiet. Now it left her alone with her own thoughts, and they spun out of control.

She dared a glance down. His face was slack with exhaustion, lashes shadowing his green eyes. He looked younger like this, almost fragile. Nothing like the relentless fighter who had stood shoulder to shoulder with her against constructs that should have crushed them both.

Her heart gave a painful thud, and she looked away at once. Heat climbed her neck, creeping to her ears. 'Why am I like this? He's just asleep.'

The worst part was the trust. He hadn't hesitated to close his eyes, to let himself be vulnerable in her presence. That simple act unsettled her more than any strike she'd parried.

Her fingers curled into her lap, trembling slightly. She wanted to brush the stray lock of hair from his forehead, but the idea terrified her. What if he stirred? What if he realized how unsteady she felt?

So she sat, rigid and tense, every second dragging like an eternity. Her pulse refused to settle, hammering against her ribs.

'Why is this harder than fighting?'

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