The last thing Lilly remembered was the heat of the battle—the searing clash of Dragon Fire against ancient magic, the ground splitting beneath her feet.

And then, nothing.

She woke to cold stone against her back, the air thick with the metallic scent of old magic. High above, jagged rock formations hung like frozen waves, and through the cracks, faint stars glittered with an unfamiliar coldness. This wasn't Alfea. This wasn't Magix. This was somewhere else entirely.

Across the cavern, a figure stirred. Valtor sat slumped against a crystalline pillar, his dark coat torn at the shoulder, a thin trail of smoke rising from singed fabric. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady—too steady for someone who should be unconscious.

His voice echoed softly in the cavern, carrying that familiar, infuriating calm. One eye cracked open, glinting with something that might have been amusement.