Lincoln stood above us, still and silent, the battlefield holding its breath.
Salem tried to shift—her shadows flickered around her like dying embers—but she barely managed a twitch before he moved.
One instant she was kneeling. The next, Lincoln's hand was clamped around her throat.
The shadows screamed. Salem's magic writhed and collapsed in a sputter of black mist. She convulsed in his grip, suspended above the fractured stone. Her blade vanished, the mana that composed it unraveling like smoke caught in a storm.
She gasped, clawing at his arm. "You… You don't know what you're doing—"
"I know exactly what I'm doing," Lincoln said coldly. "You're done haunting this realm."
She kicked once, the mana in her eyes flickered, then flinched as a glyph of locking mana branded itself across her skin—a seal, old and absolute.
Lincoln turned toward us, the weight of his presence easing just enough to let us breathe again. I forced myself to my feet, my ribs screaming with every breath, but I refused to collapse in front of him.
Salem made one last effort to summon her shadows.
She didn't even get the chance.
"I warned you," he murmured, and with a flick of his fingers, her aura collapsed into stillness. She slumped unconscious, shadows evaporating from her limbs like morning fog.
Then he raised a hand.
Three scrolls shimmered into existence in the l summoning spell, Each one was bound in a different mana outline. I could feel it—these weren't general orders.
They were chosen.
He turned his head slightly—barely a glance in our direction. But it was enough.
Each scroll floated gently through the mist, stopping before its recipient.
Mine landed in my palm with a soft thump. Cold to the touch. Ramon's hovered in place until he reached out, and Lycian's came to a full halt just shy of his chest, as if even it didn't quite trust him.
Lincoln spoke, voice low and final.
"Inside is what you need—not what you want. Training, focus, restriction. Stay within the sanctum's guarded ring. If you stray beyond it, I won't come looking."
Lycian opened his mouth to speak—but the aura Lincoln gave off silenced even him.
He turned away.
Salem's floating body followed behind him, wrapped in invisible threads of restraint.
And then—
He was gone.
No teleport. No ripple. Just a sudden absence, like the breath pulled from a room.
We stood there in stunned silence.
Ramon stared down at his scroll, eyebrows pinched. "What the hell just happened?"
Lycian snorted. "We got… chosen? Punished? Promoted? I can't tell."
I didn't speak.
My hand tightened on the scroll. I hadn't opened it yet—but I already knew Lincoln had crafted its contents in that single glance. Like he saw me in a way no one else could. Like he understood things I hadn't even realized about myself.
And still—
He hadn't said a word to me.
Not a nod. Not a compliment. Not even recognition.
After all that.
After everything I poured into that fight.
I swallowed hard, blood still soaking through my tunic, my arms aching from spell backlash, my mana stretched to its last thread—and still, somehow, I wasn't even worth a moment of acknowledgment.
Am I not impressive enough? I wondered, biting the inside of my cheek.
Did he not see me?
I felt Ramon shift beside me. "Annabel… are you okay?"
I nodded without speaking.
But something inside me twisted.
Not from pain.
From doubt.