Step by step, the roar of the lower Dungeon faded behind them, replaced by the solemn rhythm of boots on stone. The long climb offered no interruptions—only silence, punctuated by the occasional flicker of residual mana against the walls.
Luthar walked ahead, silent to the world, but not to himself.
If I had more time, he mused, I'd catch Hermes. Five minutes to break through his arrogance. Ten if he starts talking in riddles again. But time wasn't a luxury he could afford—not today. There was work to do. A promise to keep. That girl's new arm wouldn't build itself.
The weight of exhaustion pressed against his shoulders, familiar and unrelenting. Lacking resources, lacking emotion, and now—lacking time.
Behind him, Liliruca moved in quiet lockstep. She hadn't spoken since they left. She didn't need to.
Her footsteps mirrored his own—quiet, unhurried, as if the silence between them was its own language. No orders were given. None were needed. She followed, not out of duty, but choice. Where he walked, she would be there. That was enough.
Then, from ahead, Freya's voice echoed faintly along the stone steps.
"I'll be heading straight back to the manor," she said, not bothering to look back. Her tone remained calm, but her words carried a rare edge of weary practicality. "My double can maintain an illusion, not authority. If word spreads that I was inside the dungeon it would become quite trouble some."
She exhaled softly. "They can go quite wild for answers—or worse, start a rebellion."
Luthar glanced at her receding silhouette. Regal as ever. Composed. But just for a moment, the mask cracked—just enough to glimpse fatigue beneath the poise.
"Handle your house," he said quietly. "I've got mine."
Freya gave a faint hum in reply before disappearing into the glow of the upper level, veering toward the high-speed routes that would return her to the surface.
Moments later, Luthar and Liliruca parted from her at the Dungeon's gate.
The city's noise hadn't reached them yet. Only wind and pale morning light filtered into the stillness.
They continued onward—toward Miach's shop.
Miach's shop was a sanctuary of stillness—herbs hanging like charms, warmth curling in the air like an old song. A cramped little pocket of peace nestled within the city's noise.
Glass bottles clinked faintly in the back room. The familiar scent of dried leaves and tonic oils lingered like a second skin.
Luthar stepped inside with his usual lack of ceremony, brushing dust from his coat. Behind him, Liliruca ducked beneath the low doorframe and entered without a word.
Miach looked up from a half-filled vial and smiled, calm and welcoming. "I didn't think you would come today."
"I meet my deadlines," Luthar replied, heading straight for the workbench.
Liliruca dropped her pack gently in the corner and settled herself beside it.
Miach's gaze softened as it shifted to her. The vial was carefully set aside.
"Looks like you found Bell and the others," he said gently. "I hope they didn't suffer too much."
"They're alive," Luthar said. "If not for A certain idiot god thought testing people was a good idea. They might have already left the dungeon instead of trying to recover their injuries again."
He paused, adjusting a lens from his satchel. "No casualties. At least none from our side."
Miach gave a quiet nod, absorbing the weight behind the words.
"Seems Hermes has gone too far again, as always," he murmured.
A dry breath escaped Luthar. "If I had more time, I'd realign that smug grin with a brick."
Liliruca blinked. "A brick?"
"A metaphorical one," Luthar replied. "Though if I ever find time, I might just put him to sleep for a few centuries."
Miach chuckled quietly and turned to retrieve a scroll and a reinforced glass case from a nearby cabinet. "Well, I'm glad you returned in one piece. Now I think you should rest."
"Resting can wait," Luthar replied, his tone steady. "I'm here to complete the trade."
"I've already write a down all the knowledge ," Miach said. "You can begin crafting whenever you're ready."
Only then did Luthar lift his gaze. "Where's Naaza? I need her at the Church for the arm's integration."
"She went out shopping. Should return any moment," Miach replied, reaching for a kettle. "While you wait, would you like something to eat?"
Luthar shook his head. "If you have anything, give it to Lily. She probably needs it more."
Without protest, Liliruca settled by the bench. Her legs swung slightly as she watched the workspace being prepared, silent and still.
Miach returned shortly with a wooden tray, the scent of warm bread and spiced tea drifting behind him. He set it gently beside Liliruca.
She blinked, then nodded once in wordless thanks. Her fingers broke the crust with practiced care, and though the steam fogged her glasses, she made no move to clear them. She simply sat—quiet, composed, weary in that way only survivors could be.
Luthar arranged his tools in methodical silence. The occasional click of metal on wood punctuated the peace. A few apprentices passed by, casting glances filled with curiosity, but none dared to speak.
The stillness held until the shop door creaked open once more.
Naaza entered, two paper bags in hand, ears twitching and hair tousled by the wind. "I brought what you asked for," she said. "And more of that medicine you mentioned—don't ask the price. I'm pretending it was reasonable."
She paused, eyes sweeping over the dust clinging to Luthar's coat and the metal fragments on the floor. "You already came back from the Dungeon?"
"Just arrived," Luthar confirmed. "It's time I begin the work."
Naaza gave a half-snort, half-laugh. "You always make it sound so ominous."
Miach stepped forward, drying his hands on a cloth. "Let's focus on the real objective. No delays. No distractions."
Luthar stood. "We begin."
Liliruca rose with him, brushing crumbs from her lap.
Together, they stepped into the bright morning—the dust of battle behind them, and the spires of the crimson church rising ahead.