Cultivated lands rolled outward like a living tapestry. Roads glimmered faintly with mana lights even in daylight. Buildings rose with intent, not arrogance. Smoke curled from kitchens. People moved with purpose, not fear.
This was not a duchy. This was a nation being born. I turned to Duke Alaister, still stunned. He informed me calmly that Lady Seraphine was currently on a rescue mission—Sir Alex Canva. Henry. Joff. Coffi. Latte.
Of course she was.
Minutes passed. Then the magic circle flared again—brilliant blue.
They appeared. Lady Seraphine first. Exhausted. Dirt-streaked. Blood-dried. Her posture straight through sheer will alone. Her eyes told the truth before her mouth did—she was beyond tired. Her team stood behind her, equally worn, equally unbroken.
She looked up. Saw me. And smiled.
