By sunrise, Arnvale had turned into a storm of whispers.
"The dungeon collapsed again!"
"Did the puppet cause it?"
"No, they said he saved them."
"But that stranger—who was he?"
"Is Arnvale safe?"
The entire town trembled with uncertainty, and the guild was at the center of it.
Inside the infirmary, Friezzar slept again—this time not from danger, but exhaustion. His glow pulsed gently, steady and warm, like small breaths in the darkness.
Lyra sat at the foot of his bed, chin on her knees, staring at his still form.
Her thoughts spiraled.
He's recovering.
He's alive.
But for how long?
She reached forward and brushed her fingers lightly along a newly sealed crack across his chest.
"…You're stronger than you know," she whispered.
Friezzar didn't respond, but his glow brightened faintly, as if sensing her voice.
Guild Hall — The Morning After
Downstairs, the atmosphere was charged.
Oren slammed a rolled parchment onto the war table.
Arden stood across from him, arms crossed tightly.
Healers, scouts, and scribes filled the hall.
"Report," Oren commanded.
A scout stepped forward.
"The dungeon heart is gone, sir. Collapsed completely. There's… nothing left."
Oren's jaw tightened.
"And the intruder?"
The scout shook his head.
"Vanished without a trace. No footprints. No mana residue. Nothing."
Arden scowled.
"Tch. Coward."
Oren pointed at him sharply.
"He is not a coward. He is strategic. He left because he has what he needs."
A cold silence fell.
"What does he need?" one mage whispered.
Oren's gaze dropped to the parchment.
"Chaos. Instability. And Friezzar's awakening."
Arden's voice rose.
"You think he planned this entire collapse?"
"Not planned," Oren corrected. "But provoked."
He unrolled the parchment—a sigil drawn in thick red ink.
An ancient design.
A forbidden one.
Several guild members gasped.
"That's—"
"No, that magic was outlawed centuries ago—"
"It can't be—"
Oren nodded grimly.
"He's a practitioner of Soulforging."
Arden nearly choked.
"The magic used to make vessels and living constructs? I thought that was extinct!"
"Clearly, it isn't," Oren replied. "And Friezzar proves it."
He leaned on the table heavily.
"This intruder didn't attack the dungeon.
He didn't want to destroy the core.
He wanted to shatter it—
to force Friezzar's evolution."
Arden stiffened.
"Evolution? Into what?"
Oren's silence spoke the truth.
A weapon.
A vessel.
A perfect core.
The hall turned cold.
Upstairs — Lyra's Resolve
Lyra finally stood, stretching her stiff limbs. She carefully ran her fingers down Friezzar's arm, tracing the elegant carved lines.
"You didn't ask for any of this," she whispered.
"You were created for something horrible. But you chose something else."
She smiled softly.
"…You chose me."
Friezzar's glow flickered weakly in response.
Lyra tucked the blanket around him and finally stepped out of the room.
But the moment she reached the hallway—
Oren and Arden were already waiting.
Arden stepped forward first.
"How's he doing?"
"Resting," Lyra replied. "Recovering slowly."
Oren sighed.
"Good. He needs it. And you need sleep."
Lyra shook her head.
"I'm fine."
"You haven't slept in twenty hours," Arden said bluntly.
Lyra shot him a glare.
"I'm fine."
Arden raised his hands.
"Okay, okay."
But Oren didn't back down.
"Lyra. Get some rest. I'm not asking."
She lowered her gaze.
"I'll rest when he's safe."
"That's the thing," Oren said softly. "He won't be safe for a long time."
Lyra stiffened.
"…What do you mean?"
Arden scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.
"Arnvale is panicking. People are asking questions. The guild elders from the capital are coming."
Lyra's stomach dropped.
"What? Why?"
Oren met her eyes seriously.
"Because Friezzar isn't just an anomaly anymore. He's the trigger of a dungeon collapse, the target of a forbidden mage, and a potential threat—or asset—to the kingdom."
Lyra's jaw clenched.
"Friezzar is not an asset. He's not property."
"Agreed," Oren said immediately. "Which is why we need to prepare before the elders arrive."
Lyra looked between Oren and Arden.
"What do we have to do?"
Oren crossed his arms.
"First: secure Friezzar.
Second: train him.
Third: find out everything about his creator."
Arden nodded.
"And fourth: show the kingdom he's a person worth protecting, not a weapon."
Lyra placed a hand over her heart.
"I'll do anything."
Arden's tone softened slightly.
"We figured."
Friezzar Awakens… Not Alone
Back in the infirmary—
A faint whisper drifted from Friezzar's core.
Not audible to human ears.
Not physical.
Just a pulse.
…wake…
A ripple of mana spread across his chest.
Then—
A soft blue light flickered above him.
Forming a shape.
A small, gentle silhouette.
The same one from his dream.
Shaped like Lyra.
It hovered over him, glowing faintly.
His fingers twitched.
"…Ly…ra…?"
The silhouette did not speak.
But it existed.
A memory imprint born from the bond he formed.
A tether.
A guardian.
A spark that kept him alive when the core cracked.
The silhouette reached down—
and touched Friezzar's chest.
His glow brightened.
"…not alone…"
He whispered into the empty room.
And drifted back into healing sleep.
Guild Hall — A New Problem
Downstairs, the main doors slammed open.
A breathless messenger stumbled in.
"Guildmaster! A—A report!"
Oren stiffened.
"Speak."
The messenger held out a trembling parchment.
"The dungeon near Eldrook…
It awakened too."
Arden's eyes widened.
"Another dungeon…?"
The messenger nodded, terrified.
"And this one—
is growing."
Lyra froze at the doorway.
"What does that mean?"
Oren unfolded the parchment.
The moment he read the sigil drawn there—
his blood drained.
"Arden," he whispered.
"Pack your gear."
Arden blinked.
"…What? Why?"
Oren exhaled shakily.
"It's happening."
"What is?" Arden demanded.
Oren looked up.
"There's more than one vessel."