“It’s not this room either,” Alexia says as she and Sid push open another door, stepping into a small bedroom.

  The air inside is still, faintly scented with dust and old paper. A single dresser stands against the wall—aged, but carefully maintained. Above it hangs a faded mural depicting Lemres and Arku, smiling side by side beneath a painted sky.

  Sid tilts his head, studying it. “Looks like they used to be good friends,” he says quietly. “Interesting… she never talked about that.”

  Alexia moves to the dresser, pulling open one drawer after another. Inside are neatly folded men’s clothes—clean, pressed, and untouched by time. She hesitates, her brow furrowing.

  “Well, looks like there’s nothing in this room,” she says as they step back into the hall. She turns right and pushes open another door.

  This room is different. Shelves line the walls, cluttered with bottles and vials filled with glowing liquids of every color. A faint chemical smell hangs in the air.

  “Sleeping potions,” Sid murmurs, picking up one of the bottles and tilting it toward the light. “Why would Ange need these?”

  Alexia’s gaze shifts to a table near the back. Her stomach drops. “Sid… look over here.”

  He joins her—and freezes.

  Metal canisters, wires, and rune-etched spheres are neatly arranged across the workbench.

  “Bombs,” Alexia whispers. “She’s planning to bomb Fey City. And the sleep potions… they would be able to run.”

  “Well, well, well,” Ange says from the doorway, voice flat as she folds her arms. “I see you’re admiring my collection. Another month and I’ll have enough for the whole of Fey Town. But don’t worry—if you want to die first, I won’t stop you.”

  Alexia’s hand closes around her Mahoishi. Light pools in the stone of her staff as she levels it toward Ange.

  “Release—”

  “—your father?” Ange finishes for her, a cold smile curving her lips. “Why? So he can go back to killing innocents while pretending to be a hero?”

  Alexia hesitates, her jaw tightening. “He may not be perfect, but—”

  “But you still believe there’s good in him,” Ange cuts in again, her voice sharp, slicing through Alexia’s words before they can even form. “And let me guess—you’re about to say he’s changed?” She steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, does that same forgiveness extend to your demon friend too? How do you sleep at night, knowing you almost killed her? I bet the wielder would have loved that.”

  “Shut up!” Alexia shouts, her Mahoishi flaring as she swings her staff toward Ange.

  Ange glides aside easily, the glow of the strike passing harmlessly by her shoulder. “Oh, did I hit a nerve?” she asks, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. Then her expression hardens, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Sorry. I guess I don’t really know how much it hurts—to realize you can’t save anyone. Not your father. Not your friends. Not even yourself.”

  Alexia swings her staff again—fast, precise—but Ange doesn’t block. She slips aside each time, movements smooth and unreadable, never giving Alexia an opening.

  Ange darts low, sweeping her leg out to trip her. Alexia leaps back just in time, landing lightly on her feet. The two lock eyes across the narrow space, breathing hard.

  Ange lunges first, slamming a fist into Alexia’s face. Pain flashes white-hot across her cheek, but Alexia doesn’t fall. She shoves forward, driving her staff into Ange’s chest and pinning her against the wall.

  “The city will not die because of you!” Alexia shouts, her voice thick with fury and conviction.

  Ange grits her teeth, twists sharply, then kicks Alexia in the ribs. The blow breaks her stance, sending her stumbling back.

  “That city will kill everyone if left unchecked!” Ange shouts, following up with a brutal strike that sends Alexia crashing to the floor.

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  Alexia rolls, raising her staff just in time to block the next blow. The impact rattles through her arms, but she steadies her grip, crouched low, ready for the next attack.

  “Please… stop.”

  The words cut through the chaos like a bell. Both women freeze as Markus steps into the room, leaning heavily against Liddle for support. His breath comes ragged, each step unsteady.

  “I thought I’d recognize that voice anywhere,” Markus rasps, his gaze flicking between them. “Alexia—what the hell are you doing here?”

  He takes another step, then coughs hard, his legs buckling beneath him as he drops to one knee.

  “Markus, I told you to stay in bed,” Ange says sharply, rushing to his side. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

  Alexia moves at the same time, kneeling beside him and pressing a glowing hand against his chest. “Yeah, good luck getting Markus to stop,” she says softly, forcing a small, shaky smile as healing light spreads beneath her staff.

  “What happened to you?” Alexia demands, her voice rising as her gaze snaps to Ange. “What did she do to you?” She steps forward, eyes blazing, staff half-raised, ready to fight again.

  “Alexia—” Markus’s voice cuts through, raw and strained. “The priest poisoned me. She—” He coughs, Liddle bracing him. “—she helped Liddle get me out.” He fumbles for the hilt at his side and weakly draws the Life-Giving Blade. “My chest feels like it’s going to explode. Please—make my job easy for once.”

  “I’m sorry, Markus,” Alexia says, her throat tight. “But I can’t leave without my father. I know we’re not perfect, but if he dies while we weren’t talking… I couldn’t live with that.”

  Ange’s face hardens. “I should have killed him the first time,” she says flatly. Then, to Alexia: “Don’t worry about me recapturing him again. If I ever have to deal with that man again, he’ll be dead.”

  Alexia nods. She hands the keys to Sid. “Thank you for taking care of Markus,” she says, voice small but steady.

  “Go,” Sid urges.

  Alexia gathers Marlion’s weary form and grips her Mahoishi. With one last look at Markus and Liddle, she touches the stone—and the world folds around them. In a blink, she and her father are gone.

  Ange lifts Markus carefully, his weight light but unsteady in her arms. Together, she and Liddle carry him down the creaking steps into the dimly lit basement bedroom.

  “She should know how lucky she is that you care for her,” Ange mutters as they lay him on the bed. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have held back.”

  Markus lets out a weak laugh that collapses into a cough.

  Liddle climbs onto the bed beside him, curling close until her head rests on his chest. Markus’s arm finds her instinctively, wrapping around her shoulders as his breathing begins to steady.

  “With us breaking you out, we’ve already angered the priest,” Ange says quietly, watching them from the doorway. “We’ll need to prepare to return to the church—to recover your Mahoishi.”

  Markus looks down at Liddle, her face peaceful at last, the faint rise and fall of her breathing soft against him. Despite the pain still burning through his chest, a tired smile touches his lips.

  “I see why you like her,” Ange says after a moment, crossing her arms as a faint blush creeps across her cheeks. “But she’s too good for you.”

  Markus chuckles weakly, turning his head toward her. “Yeah… she really is.” His voice softens. “I’m lucky to have her.”

  Ange looks away, the corner of her mouth twitching into the faintest smile.

  “Try to get some rest. We have a big fight tomorrow,” Ange says, stepping out of the room.

  “Hey, Ange,” Markus calls after a moment, his voice still rough but gentle. “Can I ask… where are you going to go after all this?”

  Ange looks away, her expression unreadable. “I could move,” she murmurs. “But what’s the point? No matter where I go, someone will hunt me. That’s just how it is for people like me.”

  Markus smiles faintly, weak but sincere. “Then come stay near us,” he says. “I can find you a spot close to my house. No one will mess with you there.”

  Ange blinks, surprise flickering across her face.

  “Well… maybe a kid or two will,” Markus adds with a tired chuckle. “But they’re harmless.”

  “Are you sure, wielder?” Ange asks, crossing her arms. “You know I’ll just be trouble.”

  “Trust me,” Markus says with a tired grin. “You’ll fit right in — and I’ll be there to keep trouble out of the way.”

  Ange tilts her head, unconvinced. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  Markus’s expression softens. “Then let me ask you one thing… how do I convince you to put your faith in me?”

  Ange pauses, studying him for a long moment. “You don’t have to,” she says quietly. “I can read your mind, remember? Lemres was right — you are a good wielder.”

  A small, honest smile touches her lips. “Alright,” she says at last, her voice gentler now. “We can go — once you get your Mahoishi back.”

  She slips out of the room, her footsteps fading down the hall as she prepares for whatever comes next. “Rest up,” she calls softly over her shoulder. “We’re going to need you at full strength tomorrow.”

  Markus sinks back onto the bed, the weight of exhaustion finally overtaking him. Liddle climbs beside him, wrapping her arms gently around his chest. He leans into her warmth, his breathing still uneven but steadying with each slow inhale.

  “Thank you… for rescuing me,” he murmurs, his voice faint but full of sincerity. A small, tired smile tugs at his lips. “She’s right, you know. You’re too good for me.”

  Liddle’s eyes soften as he presses a weak kiss to her forehead. She brushes a hand through his hair, her heart finally beginning to slow. Within moments, Markus’s body relaxes completely, and he drifts into sleep in her arms—safe at last.