The room was dim, lit only by a faint glow from the mana lamp mounted on the wall. There was no sun to filter through windows here—only stone above and the ever-present hum of Tharvaldur's underground city.
Noel stirred awake, his body heavy but rested. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the muffled bustle of dwarves and students moving about outside. Then his eyes drifted to the chair beside the small table in the corner.
Empty.
That was where Noir always slept, curled up in her small form. The sight of the vacant chair cut sharper than he expected. He lingered there, staring at it, before finally dragging a hand through his hair with a quiet sigh.
Shaking the heaviness off, Noel rose. He crossed to the washroom, stripping away his fatigue beneath a cold shower. Water cascaded down, rinsing away the sweat and blood-stained echoes of battle. By the time he stepped out and toweled dry, his mind was clearer.
