The night was unnaturally still. The only sound came from the soft crunch of gravel beneath Noel's boots as he followed his father through the courtyard. The scent of rain hung faintly in the air, though the skies were dry—just the lingering trace of mana left behind after a fight.
Noir's voice whispered in his mind, quiet but certain.
'Dad… her scent goes this way. It's fresh.'
Noel gave a small nod without looking down. 'So she didn't run far.' His steps carried him toward the eastern garden—the same place where he and Noir had fought the Fourth Pillar barely an hour ago. The grass still bore the marks of their battle: scorched patches of earth where lightning had struck, frost still clinging faintly to the edges of shattered hedges.
"Look," Noel said, pointing toward a cluster of broken stones near the fountain. "Residual mana. Fire, lightning, shadow—all clashing. Does that seem like nothing to you?"
