Merlin was heavy.
Not physically—though dragging a half-conscious body across cracked bone-glass terrain wasn't exactly light work—but emotionally. It was the weight of silence.
Of unanswered questions. Of fear wrapped in the shape of someone who was never supposed to fall.
Nathan gritted his teeth and pulled harder.
Elara walked ahead, scouting every shadow, spear drawn and gleaming.
Her expression hadn't changed once since they found him collapsed on the ground—blood on his neck, eyes half-lidded, mumbling nonsense.
He hadn't woken up yet.
Not really.
Just brief flickers of awareness—eyes fluttering, mouth twitching like he wanted to speak. But nothing coherent.
Not even his mana was responding right. It pulsed wrong under his skin, like it wasn't just depleted, but poisoned.
'What the hell happened to you…?'
