Everyone was unconscious—everyone except Celestina, who knelt on the rubble-strewn ground, and Azriel, who stood before her with an expression she couldn't read.
His gaze eventually drifted toward the corpse of the Grade 3 Abyssal lying behind her, its head severed cleanly from its body. Next to her, a dull, empty mana core rested in the dust.
Then, his eyes met hers again. He took a few steps closer and spoke, his voice tinged with something... worry.
"Are you alright? Do you need a health potion?"
"Huh? Ah... no, I have my own. Thanks."
Celestina answered in surprise. And yet, for a reason she couldn't quite grasp, a strange tension hung between them—one that unsettled her.
Why?
Her own mind was frightening her, whispering things about the boy standing before her.
Shaking her head slightly, as if to dispel the intrusive thoughts, she forced herself to speak.
"What about you...? Are you sure you're feeling fine?"
