Reeve lay still, staring at the wooden ceiling.
The room smelled faintly of herbs and old stone. Morning light slipped through the half-open window, landing on his bandaged arm and the faint glow barely visible beneath his skin.
"…You didn't answer," he said quietly.
"What happened… while I was out?"
Lunareth leaned against the wall near the window, arms crossed. For a moment, she didn't tease him. Her expression was calm—but sharp, like a blade resting in its sheath.
"You collapsed on the training ground," she began.
"Your mana surged past what your body could handle. If I hadn't sealed you immediately, Ironridge would be missing half its grasslands."
Reeve swallowed.
"So… the seal."
She nodded.
"I used a Level Five suppression seal at first."
His eyes widened slightly. "At first?"
"Yes."
She walked closer, stopping beside his bed.
"For the first two days, it worked. Your mana slowed—barely. But on the third day, the pressure inside you increased again."
She lifted two fingers, tapping lightly against his chest.
"The seal began to crack."
Reeve felt a chill.
"So you—"
"I replaced it," she said flatly.
"With a Level Nine seal."
Silence filled the room.
Reeve exhaled slowly. "That's… high, isn't it?"
Lunareth let out a short breath—almost a laugh, but without humor.
"A Level Nine seal is usually reserved for sealed calamities or relic-beasts that can erase cities."
She looked directly at him.
"And even that… is only slowing you down."
Reeve closed his eyes.
"…Figures."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're unusually calm about this."
He opened his eyes again, gaze steady but distant.
"I've always known something was wrong with me," he said.
"In my world too."
Lunareth tilted her head slightly, watching him more closely now.
"You were unconscious for five days," she continued.
"During that time, at least three people sensed your mana."
Reeve stiffened.
"One was a scout. One was a mage. And one…" she paused, then waved it off lightly, "…was someone you don't need to worry about yet."
Yet.
"They came asking questions," she went on.
"I told them I saw nothing."
Reeve turned his head toward her. "Why?"
She met his gaze without hesitation.
"Because if they learn the truth, you won't be trained."
"…I'll be dissected," he finished.
A faint smile curved her lips. "See? You're learning this world quickly."
For a few seconds, neither spoke.
Then Reeve frowned. "But if the seal has to keep changing… what happens when it stops working?"
Lunareth's expression softened just a little.
"Then we adapt before that day comes."
"How?"
She leaned closer, her face suddenly too near.
"By making sure you don't lose control again."
His heartbeat spiked.
"…You're enjoying this," he muttered.
There it was.
That teasing smile.
"Maybe a little," she said sweetly. "Watching you struggle is oddly entertaining."
"Tch."
She straightened. "Rest today. No training."
Reeve blinked. "You just said—"
"And tomorrow," she continued, ignoring him, "we train control. Not strength."
She turned toward the door.
"Oh," she added casually, "if you feel the pressure building again—"
"I call you?"
"No," she said, glancing back with a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"You run."
The door closed softly behind her.
Reeve stared at the ceiling again.
Inside him, beneath layers of glowing seals, something vast shifted—slow, patient, growing.
And somewhere beyond Ironridge…
Something had already begun to notice.