"I left him alone," Eli whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "Gods, I left Marco alone out there."

  Eli's breath was shallow, each inhale a shiver of cold air that burned in his lungs. The weight of realization settled heavy in his chest, bitter and suffocating. Hours had passed—days, maybe. Time was slippery in the grotto, stretching and folding in ways that made his head ache to consider. But outside…

  Outside, Marco was alone.

  The thought pierced through the haze of revelation like a blade of ice. Eli's hands trembled, the dark core of Starling pulsing faintly in his grip—slow, searching, almost concerned.

  Aura hovered nearby, her wings trembling with a faint, nervous flutter. Waves of emotion radiated from her—guilt, urgency, and a desperate sort of apology. Her eyes were wide and luminous, violet light dimming with each flicker of Eli's tension. Her wings dipped in a silent plea—stay, learn, prepare.

  "I can't," Eli snapped, harsher than intended. Aura flinched, her light dimming further, guilt crashing over him in raw, unfiltered waves.

  He immediately regretted his tone. It wasn't her fault—not really. She was trying to help, to prepare him for something terrible. But all he could think about was Marco, waiting in the dungeon, power dwindling, surrounded by corruption.

  Eli exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Marco's alone out there. The dungeon's still spreading. I don't—" His voice broke, the words catching. "I don't have time."

  Aura's light flickered with a spark of regret, her wings drooping like a flower wilting in frost. A faint pulse of reassurance bled through the binding spell's threads—warm, not painful, like a hand resting softly at his neck.

  But Eli's jaw clenched tight, fingers curling white-knuckled around Starling's shaft. "No," he bit out. "I've already stayed too long. If he's—if something happened…"

  The thought lodged cold in his chest, a spike of ice beneath his ribs. Aura's eyes lowered, her light dimming with a sorrow so thick Eli could barely breathe. A wave of guilt radiated from her—wordless and raw, a desperate apology laced with a plea to understand.

  The Suggestion: Cultivation Practices and Resistance

  Aura hesitated, her wings beating slowly, light flaring briefly as if to catch his attention. Her eyes were soft and pleading, and a wave of intention washed over him—soft but firm. Preparation. Cultivation. Strength.

  Eli's breath hitched. "Now?" he demanded, incredulous. "I've already been here for hours—I can't waste any more time meditating while Marco's out there alone!" His voice was rising, panic threading the edges. "He's running out of power, or worse—he could be—"

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Being as insufferably analytical as always," Eli muttered under his breath, a desperate attempt at humor to mask the fear twisting in his gut. "Probably cataloguing every speck of dust while he waits."

  Aura's light pulsed with something almost like amusement—a brief flicker of levity in the tension. But it vanished quickly, replaced by a surge of emotion—desperation, urgency, a plea to understand.

  Images flashed through Eli's mind, blurred and fragmented—threads of violet light weaving through darkness, corrupted energy dissolving into soft pulses of mana, meditation circles lined with Aethel glyphs. A way to stabilize the binding spell, to resist the dungeon's corruption.

  "So you're saying," Eli translated, eyebrows rising, "that I could be learning to turn corruption into power? That I could be stronger when I go back?" The idea was tempting—almost painfully so. To return to Marco not as a liability but as an asset.

  Aura's wings fluttered with eager hope, light brightening at his understanding.

  But Eli's jaw set, eyes darkening as reality crashed back. "No," he growled. "I need to get back now. We'll—" He swallowed hard, throat tight with emotion. "We'll figure this out later. After I know he's safe."

  Aura's wings drooped, her light dimming with a spike of guilt so sharp it left Eli's breath hitching. She looked like a scolded child, shoulders hunched, light flickering like a candle in the wind.

  "Don't look at me like that," Eli said softly, the anger draining from him. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do. It's just—" He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit that left it sticking up in wild tufts. "I promised him I wouldn't leave him behind. I already broke that promise once."

  The binding spell pulsed warmly at his neck, not chains but a lifeline—holding back something vast and terrible, just barely.

  The Portal: Leaving the Grotto

  The portal loomed ahead—smooth and dark, its surface reflecting the pale light of the crystals lining the walls. Glyphs glimmered faintly around the edges, golden and violet threads weaving in slow, intricate patterns. The air was colder near the portal, tasting of metal and ozone, carrying a faint hum that resonated through the stone.

  "You know," Eli said, with a weak attempt at humor, "for a magical doorway to the past, you'd think they could have made it a little more impressive. Maybe add some flashing lights, a dramatic sound effect or two."

  Aura's light pulsed with a hint of what might have been laughter, though the sound never came. Her wings fluttered in a silent chuckle.

  Then she hesitated, her wings fluttering nervously, eyes wide and luminous with guilt. She drifted closer, tiny hands brushing the silver threads of the binding spell—a wordless plea to stay, to learn, to understand.

  The touch sent warmth cascading through Eli's chest, a connection that went deeper than words. Emotions tangled between them—her fear, his determination, shared concern for what lay ahead.

  Eli's breath was shaky, his voice raw. "I'll be back," he promised hoarsely. "I just—I need to make sure he's okay first."

  He paused, then added with a ghost of a smile, "Besides, if I stay away too long, Marco will probably reprogram himself to be even more annoying, just to spite me."

  Aura's light flared briefly, a mix of sorrow and hesitant hope, her wings dipping in what might have been a nod. The binding spell pulsed warmly, almost encouragingly. With a deep breath, Eli stepped forward, boots whispering against the stone, the portal's cold light swallowing him whole.