49

It swallowed her whole, stretching endlessly in all directions.

But Lunaris wasn’t afraid.

She should’ve been—she used to be. As a child, she had feared the dark, the vast nothingness that crept in when the lights faded. But now, wrapped in its quiet embrace, she felt… at peace.

Because of him.

Warmth flickered at the edges of her consciousness, a stark contrast to the cold she had expected. She had seen death before—she had heard its silence, felt its finality. And yet, she was still here.

Still breathing.

Her lashes fluttered. A slow, heavy blink. And then—light.

Blurred shapes. A faint scent of parchment and steel. The quiet hum of another presence nearby.

“…You’re awake.”

A voice. Familiar. Soft yet strained.

Her gaze focused, turning toward the indigo-haired man sitting beside her bed. Aristellus watched her with a bitter smile, an orange fox perched atop his head, its ears twitching in silent amusement.

Lunaris swallowed, her throat dry. “…What happened?”