The wind whispered across the palace roof, cool and steady, brushing strands of silver hair across Aurora's cheek. Her deep blue eyes stared skyward, unblinking. The world above was brilliant—sunlight laced with mana, clouds drifting in slow, divine spirals. But she didn't look at the sky.
She looked through it.
"Trap forty-one… done," she whispered, voice dry with fatigue. "Now for trap forty-two."
Beneath her, the rooftop was cold stone. Her legs had gone numb hours ago, but she barely noticed. Her mind floated elsewhere—threaded through ley lines, woven into hidden layers of reality. Her mana flickered outward like a net cast wide, connecting her to the lattice of spells she had left across the kingdom.
Most wouldn't even sense them.
Most weren't her.
