Her golden eyes met his, weary but steady. The weight inside them was heavier than words—like two lanterns burning in a storm, both fragile and unyielding.
"…demigods, Atlas. Demigods. They're after us. After you."
The words dropped like stones into a black well. Atlas didn't answer at first. He only stared at her eyes—those eyes, burning with flaring mana. He saw the exhaustion there, the way it pulsed with accusation, part of her blaming him for the ruin she carried inside her veins. He saw it. He knew. He knew she wasn't lying. Her condition told it all.
His jaw tightened. "…you need to get bandaged. Quick."
Aurora's lips pressed into silence. Her hand clutched her staff, knuckles pale against the wood. She said nothing, only gazed at his back as he stepped forward, towards the storm.
Atlas lifted his hand.
