The night air tore past them as Zane and Mira sprinted across the rooftops, boots striking stone in rapid rhythm. Below, the industrial district sprawled like a maze of iron and shadow—chimneys breathing smoke, mana-lamps flickering like nervous eyes.
Zane suddenly slowed, his gaze lifting.
"Hm… that's—"
Mira turned toward him mid-run. "What happened, Professor Zane? Do you sense some—"
She froze.
A pressure slammed into her senses.
Not hostile. Not violent.
But enormous.
A white pulse of mana surged across the sky from somewhere ahead, washing over the rooftops like a silent tide. It passed through them without harm, yet Mira's legs nearly gave out as her instincts screamed.
"W-what… is that…?" she whispered, breath unsteady.
Zane's eyes narrowed, the faintest edge of seriousness replacing his usual ease.
"That was Grom," he said. "And he's in trouble."
Before Mira could respond, Zane stepped in close and lifted her effortlessly.
"W—what—?!"
"Hold on."
