(Valerian Alzette's POV)
Nearly two months.
That was how long it had been.
Nearly two months since my disciple vanished before my eyes.
I stood atop the reinforced wall overlooking the borderlands, my hands clasped behind my back as the cold wind pulled at my coat.
Below, soldiers moved between the defensive positions in disciplined formations. Scouts returned from the outer perimeter. Supply wagons rolled through the gates. In the distance, smoke rose from places where the war had scarred the land.
Everything appeared normal.
Or at least, as normal as a border at war could ever be.
Yet my attention was barely on any of it.
For almost two months, my thoughts had continuously returned to that night.
The empty tent.
The sudden surge of mana.
His presence appearing inside my quarters.
And then…
Nothing.
Gone.
Even now, I could remember the sensation perfectly.
The mana compressing.
Space twisting.
That final shimmer in the air as I reached the tent a moment too late.
