The night passed in a heavy, watchful silence.
Though no chains held him, the young soldier was under constant supervision.
A pair of guards rotated outside his room, and Melissa peeked in more than once to glare daggers at the boy who had tried to bolt in the dead of night.
But he didn't try to run again. Not because he trusted them—he didn't—but because something in the air made it difficult to panic.
He couldn't explain it, but the room he was in… calmed him.
The tension in his muscles gradually drained away, his heartbeat slowed, and his mind began to settle.
Unseen threads of mana, delicately woven by Kyle himself, pulsed around the room in a subtle web. It suppressed fear, dulled panic, and encouraged rest.
It worked.
By morning, the boy was sitting up in bed, eyes still wary, but his shoulders less tight.
That's when Kyle entered, a plate of warm bread, cheese, and stew in hand.
"I thought you might be hungry. Eat first. Then we talk."
