'Was I… pushed?'
The thought barely had time to settle before the sensation hit—his head plunging into the black water.
Cold. Soundless. Absolute.
Then—
—nothing.
But just before the nothingness embraced him fully, Auren's instincts flared.
His arms lashed backward, flailing for something—anything—to catch. Desperate fingers clawed the empty air.
And caught something solid.
The hilt of a sword.
Without thinking, without questioning, he gripped it tight and yanked it free. The instant it came loose, his body slipped under, consumed entirely by the black water.
Not a ripple. Not a splash.
As if the surface had swallowed him like smoke.
It happened so quickly—so absurdly fast—that Asenya, with all her experience and razor-sharp pride, stood frozen for a beat too long.
She blinked once. Then leaned over the rim of the well, her golden eyes slightly wide—expression muddled with something rare:
Uncertainty.
"You imbecile…"
