Ilyrana extended her hand to Luke, her fingers light yet firm as she helped him back onto his feet.
"Come on," she said softly, her voice steady despite the tension lingering in the air. "We're going back."
Luke straightened, his muscles aching from the fight, and shot her a look that blended disbelief with fatigue.
"Back…? As in, back to the room?" he asked incredulously, glancing at their surroundings. "Aren't we already here? Like, the actual palace?"
Ilyrana didn't answer him. She turned on her heel, her movements graceful as always, and began to walk. Luke muttered to himself, brushing soot off his clothes.
"Sure, no big deal. Fight an armoured elf, nearly die, and then—yup—just head back to our room like it's another Tuesday."
Still, he followed her, keeping close this time, as if Irithiel might change her mind and skewer him on the spot.
But Irithiel didn't move. She remained planted where she stood, her armoured frame imposing.
