Selphine's voice cut through the tension like a thread drawn taut.
"Oh… It's that guy from the terrace!"
Aurelian blinked and leaned forward so fast his napkin fluttered off the table. "Wait—what? Where—?"
The projection hovering above the plaza shifted sharply—refocusing on one of the six relic zones: a clearing surrounded by colossal root-bridges, the air thick with ambient mana. And there, standing at the very center beneath an ancient tree still humming with radiant energy, was—
Him.
The same smirk.
The same unruly sweep of black hair, parted just enough to reveal sharp cheekbones and an expression that danced between amusement and challenge. His eyes—pitch black, deeper than ink—held the same unreadable depth they had when he faced down nobility with a smile and a sword.
And there it was again—his blade.
