Chapter 306 - "What happened to me?"

After the news of Forgeheart Crucible was delivered...

Selena’s eyelashes twitched—barely, like a feather disturbed by a faint breeze—before her eyes opened with slow precision. No frantic gasp, no dramatic inhale.

Just a quiet, controlled awakening... though the subtle stiffness in her jaw betrayed a strain beneath the surface.

Her gaze drifted across the unfamiliar runes on the ceiling, then the dim crystals lining the infirmary walls. Only after several seconds did her eyes land on the figures around her—Luca, Sylthara...

...and the veiled woman seated closest.

A faint pause.

Her breathing changed—very slightly, a soft hitch so controlled anyone else would’ve missed it. But Luca, watching closely, noticed.

Her lips parted a fraction.

"Mother...?"

The voice that left her was not warm. Not relieved.

It was hollow—soft, restrained, as if the word itself had to be forced past an emotional barrier she wasn’t ready to open.

The Tower Master froze only for a heartbeat—just long enough to reveal she had heard the tension buried inside that single word—then leaned forward, her fingers hovering near Selena’s cheek without touching.

But Selena’s attention snapped away before that gentle gesture could land.

A sharp pulse of pain shot behind her eyes. Her fingers moved to her temple, pressing hard—controlled, efficient, but trembling faintly at the tips. Her breath grew thin.

Fragments of memory cut through her mind like shards of ice.

She didn’t wince.

She didn’t panic.

Her expression remained cold—expressionless even—but her grip on the blanket tightened a few degrees too much.

She turned her head toward Luca, her tone flat but weighted.

"What happened to me?"

Not a question—an expectation of an answer.

Luca stepped closer, trying to guide her back down, worry softening his eyes.

"You just woke up—please, don’t push yourself. We’ll talk later."

Selena’s gaze sharpened at once—a cold, impatient glint that normally meant don’t dodge my question.

Her back straightened, the blankets sliding slightly as she tried to sit up with rigid precision. Her voice dropped lower, icy but steady.

"Explain. Now."

Before Luca could answer, her eyes flicked to Sylthara.

The dark elf stiffened, caught off guard, her ears freezing mid-sway. The pressure of Selena’s direct stare—calm, cold, expecting—made it painfully clear she was demanding truth, not comfort.

Sylthara opened her mouth... then closed it.

Her ears lowered slightly.

She looked away.

Selena’s fingers curled over the sheets—controlled but tense.

Silence pressed into the room.

Finally, the Tower Master rose slightly from her seat, her voice gentle but firm, cutting through the tension.

"Selena. Let me check your condition. Your mana long—"

Selena’s reaction was immediate—sharp, instinctive, but still unnervingly contained.

Her expression didn’t twist.

Her voice didn’t rise.

But a cold ripple struck the air.

"Don’t," she said, tone flat as winter stone.

The Tower Master reached forward anyway, her movements careful—

—and that was the moment Selena’s control snapped.

She slapped the approaching hand away with a swift, precise motion, the strike sharp but not wild. Frost exploded across her mother’s wrist in a thin, jagged layer.

Not violent.

Not emotional.

Just cold—too cold—an instinctive rejection that came from a place she was desperately trying not to confront.

Luca moved instantly.

"Master!"

He grasped the Tower Master’s wrist, melting the frost with a controlled flare of warmth. His brows drew together, his voice low but urgent.

"Are you hurt...? Does it numb anywhere?"

The Tower Master didn’t answer. Her gaze was still fixed on Selena—a steady, unreadable study of her daughter’s restrained turmoil.

Selena stared at the frost she’d created, her expression barely shifting... but something in her eyes trembled for half a second before she forced the cold mask back into place.

Her voice, when it came, was low, clipped, almost monotone.

"I don’t want to meet anyone right now."

Luca took a slow breath and stepped forward.

"Sele—"

A soft tug at his sleeve stopped him.

He turned.

The Tower Master shook her head once—small, composed, her veil hiding her expression but not the quiet heaviness in her posture.

Luca hesitated, then stepped back silently.

He glanced at Sylthara.

Her golden eyes widened slightly, as though asking silently what now?

He exhaled softly.

"Stay with her," he murmured. "I’ll get the healer."

Sylthara nodded, stepping closer to the bedside with a quiet, unobtrusive presence—her body language cautious, as though approaching a wounded predator rather than a friend.

Luca followed the Tower Master out into the hallway.

Behind them, the door slid shut with a soft thud—leaving Selena sitting upright, face cold, eyes distant, jaw tight enough to ache.

Not crying.

Not breaking.

Just silently... freezing.

Holding everything inside, like she always did.

The infirmary felt strangely larger with Luca and the Tower Master gone—quieter, heavier, the air thick with an awkward stillness that pressed down on the room like a soft weight.

Sylthara stood beside the bed, arms loosely folded. Selena sat propped against the pillows, her back straight, her expression returned to that familiar mask—cold, composed, almost too perfectly neutral as if refusing to show the slightest sign of weakness.

Several moments passed in silence.

Selena broke them first.

Her eyes—still slightly unfocused from the lingering headache—slid toward Sylthara.

"What happened to me."

Her tone was flat, clipped... but there was something brittle beneath it, an edge of urgency she fought to suppress.

Sylthara exhaled slowly, her shoulders sinking an inch. She dragged a hand through her silver hair before answering.

"Apparently..." she began, her voice softer than usual, "after hearing your father’s name... you went into mana disassociation."

Selena’s fingers tightened around the blanket—barely, but enough to wrinkle the fabric. Her gaze dropped for a split second, as if hoping the explanation would change if she looked away.

Sylthara noticed.

She looked down as well, her claws lightly pressing into the sheet edge she was gripping.

"Mana disassociation, huh..." she muttered, almost to herself.

The room fell silent again.

The mana crystals hummed faintly.

Selena stared at her own hands—calm, steady, yet curled too rigidly over the blanket.

Sylthara shifted her weight, clearly debating with herself. Her ears twitched, and she drew in a breath as if preparing to dive into water she wasn’t sure she should enter.

Finally, she spoke.

"...Why did you react like that to your mother?"

Selena’s eyes snapped to her immediately—not wide, not shocked, just sharply focused, like a blade grazing a surface.

She looked away almost just as quickly.

Not dramatically.

Not angrily.

But with that subtle flicker of discomfort... embarrassment...clearly knowing she was in the wrong but would never admit to.

Her reply came quieter than expected—cold, but strained at the edges.

"Our relationship is... complicated."

She said nothing more.

The words hung there like frost in the air—rigid, incomplete, hiding far more than they revealed.

Sylthara stared at her for a long moment. Then she sighed, her shoulders slumping in a way that said this girl is hopeless.

"I don’t know what happened between you and your mother," she said, her voice slower, heavier now, "and maybe I shouldn’t ask."

She shifted, leaning back slightly as she looked at her own hands.

"But you should be glad she’s here."

Her voice softened—just a fraction.

"Glad that she came for you."

Selena’s expression didn’t change much—it almost never did—but her eyes flickered. A tiny motion. Defensive. Distant.

She clearly disagreed.

But she stayed silent.

Sylthara looked at her, frustration and something gentler mixing in her expression.

"You’re probably thinking I don’t understand," she continued, "and... you’re right. I don’t."

Her golden eyes lowered, and her fingers loosened on the sheets.

"But I’ve seen my mother dead."

The words came out simple, quiet, unadorned by emotion—but the weight behind them pulled the air taut.

Selena’s eyes widened by a fraction.

Not pity.

Not sympathy.

Just... attention.

Sylthara’s voice remained steady, but her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

"So believe me when I say... you should value yours more than you think."

Selena looked like she wanted to argue—say that Sylthara didn’t understand, couldn’t possibly know, couldn’t imagine the distance between her and her mother...

But Sylthara continued, cutting through that unspoken resistance.

"I am sure you two have... whatever issues you have," she said, her tone honest, almost blunt. "But she still cares about you."

Selena’s brows twitched, the faintest trace of disbelief clouding her eyes.

She didn’t speak.

She couldn’t.

Her throat tightened too quickly for words.

Sylthara saw it.

She stepped a little closer, lowering her voice.

"Otherwise she wouldn’t have come here... even after sealing her own power."

Selena froze.

Not visibly.

But everything inside her went still.

For the first time since she woke, her expression cracked—just a hairline fracture, a single flicker of shock breaking her mask.

She looked down, her fingers loosening over the sheets as if her body no longer knew what to do with itself.

Sealed her... power?

She swallowed—quiet, controlled, but hard.

Before either of them could speak again—

The infirmary door swung open sharply.

A dwarven healer barged in, exhaling heavily as he tightened the straps of his satchel.

"Move aside," he grumbled, tapping his staff on the floor. "Let me check your condition, girl."

Sylthara stepped back immediately.

Selena did not.

She remained perfectly still, expression cool again—but her eyes lingered on the door...and the faint shock still trembling beneath them.

***

The stone passage outside the infirmary stretched long and silent, the faint warmth from the forge-lamps casting soft orange halos across the walls. Luca walked beside the Tower Master, just slightly behind her, matching his pace to hers without thinking. Her veil drifted with every step, the silver embroidery along her sleeves shimmering faintly with the suppressed remnants of her sealed aura.

The air here was calmer—no reporters, no dwarven guards, only the quiet hum of ancient runes embedded in the walls.

Still, Luca’s eyes kept drifting toward her right hand.

Even though the frost had melted, he’d seen the slight redness on her skin. He couldn’t shake the image of Selena’s ice striking her—of how fragile she had seemed in that one instant.

He hesitated for a moment, then finally spoke, voice low but earnest.

"Master... is your hand okay?"

The Tower Master didn’t look at him immediately; her gaze stayed fixed ahead, posture perfectly poised. Only after a heartbeat did she turn her wrist ever so slightly, inspecting her own hand with a calmness that felt almost too controlled.

"It is fine," she said, her voice composed, almost serene. "It was only a surface freeze. Nothing serious."

But Luca caught it—the faint tightening of her fingers, the small pause before she answered. She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t unaffected either. It was the kind of discomfort she simply chose not to show.

They continued walking a few more steps.

Her steps were graceful, measured... yet just

a little slower than usual. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for him.

Luca cleared his throat quietly.

"Master... why didn’t you stay there?"