A few hours after the Lich's ashes were swept away by the wind, Zero Castle finally fell into an oppressive silence.
Dayat walked with slumped shoulders, carrying Dola toward the Medical Wing.
Every step felt as heavy as lead—not because of the weight in his arms, but due to a bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to drain his very marrow. His silver-blue armor had dissolved, leaving behind a black tactical jacket torn in several places. His fingers trembled slightly as the adrenaline that had peaked earlier began to recede, replaced by a dull numbness.
Dola felt light, far too light for Dayat. Yet, the crimson stain spreading across his wife's white cloak—warm blood still seeping from her shoulder—made Dayat feel as though he were carrying the entire weight of the world.
"Hmm... I'm alright," Dola whispered. Her voice was thin, nearly swallowed by the uneven rhythm of Dayat's footsteps.
"Tsk, don't lie." Dayat tightened his embrace.
