"Everyone, pay attention," Rhaldrin's voice carried through the chamber—firm but even, the tone of someone used to handling students. "We've covered everything we needed. Stay close, and keep your notes sealed. We're heading back."
The group of twenty shifted into motion. The last wisps of mana still shimmered faintly across the stone, like veins fading beneath translucent skin.
Trafalgar stood near the rear, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve until it hid the faint mark along his arm. The fabric was slightly damp, but it blended easily with the humidity of the ruins.
Zafira slowed her pace beside him, her expression soft but worried. "You sure you're okay, Trafalgar? You look… a bit pale."
He didn't even pause. "Got dizzy for a moment earlier," he said casually. "Washed my face and wiped it with the sleeve. Guess it shows."
Zafira's eyes lingered on him—there was something warmer behind her usual calm tone. "As long as you're fine."
