Affection was supposed to slow down the higher it went.
Reaching ninety alone was difficult, but in just a few hours it had risen to ninety-five.
Isaac frowned, pulling up her status to check what was going on.
[Status: She refuses to feel regrets again, and has decided to do what her heart tells her to do.]
He stood there, half-baffled.
It felt as though something had stirred Celia's emotions, forcing her emotions to explode with intensity.
But he had no clue what the catalyst was.
Beside him, Celia said nothing, walking with calm steps out of the dissipating smoke.
Her face showed only a bright smile.
The two of them emerged onto the main street, and the sign of the Walker smithy came into view.
The rhythmic clang of hammers echoed faintly inside, along with the smell of metal and smoke.
When they stepped through the door, Isaac saw Tyr bent over an anvil.
He had transformed into a man-sized figure. He was focused entirely on the blade he was hammering.
