The magic circle closed behind them with a low sigh, as if the space itself were relieved to release that accumulated tension.
The air shifted.
There was no biting wind, no divine pressure, no endless clouds beneath their feet. Only the familiar smell of home—ancient stone, warmed wood, stabilized domestic magic. A living, inhabited, safe place.
Vergil barely had time to adjust Níðhögg on his shoulder.
"KATH—!"
He didn't finish the word.
Katharina was the first to appear, running down the corridor like a runaway projectile. Her feet barely touched the ground before she leaped, her arms wrapping around his neck tightly enough to almost knock him over.
"YOU DISAPPEARED!" she protested, burying her face in his shoulder. "You damned husband! Let me know when you're going out! You just vanished into thin air!!!"
"Disappeared?" Vergil asked, trying to keep his balance.
"Yes, your awful husband disappeared!" she replied, pouting.
Too late.
