Shellia woke to a faint rustle and the soft scent of bread and herbs. Her lashes fluttered, vision hazy, the world still swaying slightly from the heavy drain of divine energy she'd used earlier. The dim orange glow of torches danced against the crystalline walls, and beside her sat Allen — calm, vigilant, his silver hair reflecting the light like molten glass.
"You're awake," Allen murmured, relief softening his tone. He broke a piece of the warm bread in half, offering it to her. "You should eat something before we move on. Your mana flow hasn't stabilized yet."
Shellia blinked, still groggy, then smiled faintly. "You… waited here?"
Allen chuckled, setting another portion of dried meat on a flat rock. "Where else would I be? You're terrible at pretending to be invincible, you know."
Her lips curved, though her voice was barely above a whisper. "And you're terrible at pretending you don't worry."
