As Celestia's strength waned, her legs faltered, and she sank to her knees. The sight of her fragility gripped Caleb's heart with a fierce urgency. His piercing golden gaze fell on her fragile form, and in an instant, he was by her side, his expression a mixture of worry and resolve. "Celestia?" he called, his voice low but steady, tinged with an unfamiliar softness. The intensity of his gaze conveyed a silent message of solidarity and determination to help her through this difficult moment. She had pushed herself far beyond her limits, and it was evident.

  A gentle exhalation escaped her, accompanied by a weary sigh, as she leaned heavily into him. Caleb swiftly supported her, cradling her with care. Unable to resist the demands of her body any longer, she surrendered to the need for rest. Celestia’s head rested against his chest. Though she fought to remain conscious, her body betrayed her, surrendering to the sheer weight of exhaustion. Caleb’s steady heartbeat beneath her ear was the last thing she registered before her eyes fluttered shut.

  Soon after, the healer appeared. She was a middle-aged woman with an air of calm authority, and her practised hands immediately checked Celestia’s pulse and assessed her condition. “She needs rest,” the healer pronounced, her tone even but insistent. “She’s dangerously overextended herself, both physically and magically. If she continues at this pace, her body will fail her.”

  Caleb nodded, his expression unreadable but for the subtle tension in his jaw. “Will she recover?”

  The healer glanced at him, her gaze softening. “Yes, but only if she’s placed in an environment where she feels safe. Somewhere quiet, away from the pressures of the city. A hospital won’t suffice.”

  He looked down at Celestia’s unconscious face, her features etched with the remnants of pain and determination. “Understood,” he said quietly.

  Cradling her closer, he rose deliberately slowly, careful not to jostle her. The healer extended her hand, casting a shimmering portal that glowed faintly in the dim light. “This will take you to the city’s main square. From there, you can make your way to wherever she’ll be most comfortable.”

  Caleb gave a curt nod of thanks before stepping through the portal.

  The sudden shift from the quiet dungeon-like corridors to the bustling marketplace was jarring. The cobblestone streets were alive with activity, but the sight of Caleb Nightglen emerging from a magical gateway, carrying an unconscious woman in his arms, brought the lively hum to an abrupt halt.

  Whispers rippled through the crowd as heads turned.

  Murmurs spread like ripples through the crowd as onlookers gathered, their gazes sharp with curiosity and admiration as they whispered his name. The people were captivated by the sight of the young lord emerging from the glowing portal, Celestia cradled protectively in his arms. Caleb Nightglen, the so-called Legend of the Dungeon, stood before them, his face etched with a quiet determination that belied the weight of the moment.

  “Is that… Lord Nightglen?” someone murmured in awe.

  “He’s carrying a woman? Who is she?” another voice chimed in, the disbelief evident.

  Caleb felt a familiar tightening in his chest, a weight he’d carried ever since he first set foot on the path laid out for him by his family’s name and his own accomplishments. These were the people he had sworn to protect, yet at this moment, each gaze felt like a burden pressing down on him. He ignored the murmurs, his expression cold and unyielding. He despised the attention in this moment, the weight of their gazes, the unspoken questions they dared not voice. Each step he took seemed heavier under the scrutiny, but he held his head high, focusing solely on Celestia. She needed safety and warmth—nothing else mattered.

  One adventurer, a young woman with gleaming eyes, stepped forward, her expression filled with pure admiration. “Lord Nightglen, do you have any advice for us novice adventurers as we head down to the third level?” she asked, her smile broad and hopeful.

  Caleb gripped Celestia tighter, the weight of his titles and responsibilities pressing down even harder. This was what was expected of him—to be the unyielding pillar, the one who always had the answers. Her question hung in the air, and Caleb’s patience thinned. He paused briefly, turning just enough to meet her gaze. He offered the woman a polite smile that barely stretched across his face.

  “Be cautious,” he said curtly. “And don’t overestimate your abilities.” His tone left no room for further questions.

  Despite his calm response, he felt a flicker of irritation. Did they not see Celestia’s weary form in his arms? Did they not sense the urgency etched into his every step? But he kept his face neutral, giving nothing away as he pushed forward, each step feeling heavier, burdened by the stares of those around him.

  More spectators pressed forward, their murmuring intensifying as they absorbed his commanding aura. He perceived their inquisitiveness and unspoken inquiries churning in the air: "What drew him to her? What events had transpired in the depths below? She's unfamiliar among the aristocratic women! What's her identity?"

  Caleb cast a quick glance at Celestia's face. She looked like a warrior at rest—battle-worn yet unwavering in spirit, her strength evident even in this state of repose. That she had trusted him enough to collapse in his arms, to allow herself this vulnerability, spoke volumes about the bond they shared. He did not take this trust lightly, and it only strengthened his determination to protect her, a fierce resolve settling in his heart.

  Yet even in his growing urgency, he could feel the weight of expectations pressing harder, especially from the admiring eyes of the young women among the crowd, who saw in him the vision of a noble hero, a prize bachelor. They saw a figure clad in mystery, rumoured power, and distant allure—someone far removed from the quiet ache of duty he now felt to this woman in his arms. Each glance felt like a reminder of the life he had been expected to lead, one filled with grandeur and solitude, unmarred by the messiness of such personal entanglements.

  He swallowed, his gaze searching the crowd for an escape, for some respite from the prying eyes and whispered judgements. The crowd parted reluctantly as Caleb’s commanding presence urged them aside. A guard stationed nearby noticed the commotion and approached, confusion evident on his face. Caleb seized the opportunity, his voice cutting through the murmurs.

  “Clear a path,” he ordered. “Now.”

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  The guard snapped to attention, quickly dispersing the onlookers. Caleb pressed forward, his strides purposeful as he approached a waiting carriage. One of the Dungeon employees stepped towards him. Informing that everything that belonged to them would be sent quickly with spells to them. As it is the procedure.

  Caleb nodded his thanks, stepping forward as the crowd parted to reveal a carriage stationed nearby. The driver, wide-eyed, scrambled to open the door. Caleb stepped inside, gently positioning Celestia on the cushioned seat before settling beside her. The doors shut, and the muffled voices faded away.

  “Nightglen Manor,” he instructed, his voice low but firm. The driver nodded and flicked the reins, urging the horses forward through the bustling streets.

  Inside the carriage, as the city lights blurred past, the tension that had gripped Caleb’s shoulders began to ease, though only slightly. The city’s noise faded as they moved toward quieter streets, and he allowed himself a moment to study Celestia. Her features had softened in slumber and carried the faint traces of the battles she had fought—the exhaustion, the resilience, and the quiet strength that had kept her going. At that moment, he was reminded of why he would face the gaze of a thousand onlookers if it meant keeping her safe, even if he couldn't grasp how she had gotten so fast under his skin.

  Reaching into his pocket, Caleb activated a message stone, its surface glowing softly. “Prepare a guest room. I bring a female guest to Nightglen Manor. Her name is Lady Celestia, and contact Lord Elysian for me I will need his profound knowledge in Arcane Art. Lady Celestia will need immediate assistance.” The stone buzzed in response. The steward’s voice responded immediately. “Understood, my lord. Everything will be ready.” Caleb felt a flicker of relief wash over him, knowing that he wasn’t alone. He had people he could trust.

  The journey to Nightglen Manor was quiet, save for the rhythmic clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Caleb’s mind raced with thoughts he couldn’t quite settle. Celestia’s vulnerability stirred something in him, a fierce protectiveness he hadn’t anticipated. She wasn’t just another adventurer he happened to cross paths with; she was something more, though he couldn’t yet put it into words.

  As the carriage approached the manor’s grand gates, Caleb straightened, the familiar sight of his ancestral home evoking a mixture of comfort and unease. The gates creaked open, revealing the sprawling estate bathed in the warm glow of lanterns. The carriage rolled to a stop, and Caleb stepped out, gathering Celestia in his arms once more. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and he adjusted his hold, ensuring she was secure. His heart raced; Nightglen Manor was a place of safety, yet each wall held shadows of his past.

  The grand doors of the manor swung open, and his trusted head-butler, Mr. Jenkins, along with Mrs. Thompson, the head-maid, hurried to greet him. Concern flickered in their eyes as they took in the scene. They bowed deeply, the rest of the manor staff forming two rows along the entrance, bowing low in silent, solemn loyalty.

  “Welcome home, Lord Caleb!” they chorused, their voices a harmonious tribute to their beloved young lord. Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Thompson spoke in unison, “Welcome back, my Lord. " Their warmth reverberated through the entry hall as if the manor had sighed in relief at his return. “My lord,” Mr. Jenkins began, his voice steady but tinged with worry. Is everything alright?”

  Caleb gestured for them to rise, a faint smile breaking through his solemn demeanour. He nodded briskly. “Any word of Elys arrival?,” he asked before he turned to Mrs. Thompson. “How is the guest room preparation going? I want Lady Celestia in a bed as soon as possible.”

  Mrs. Thompson stepped forward, her eyes briefly widening in surprise before softening as her gaze shifted to Celestia. She clasped her hands together, a flicker of motherly concern crossing her face. “You’ve returned sooner than expected, my lord,” she said, her tone a mix of respect and warmth. “Not to worry—everything will be prepared at once. I’ll personally see to her care.” Without another word, she turned sharply on her heel, her voice rising to rally the maids, already briskly organising the preparations with her usual efficiency.

  Caleb inclined his head in gratitude before carrying Celestia inside. The manor’s interior was as imposing as ever, its dark wood and gilded accents exuding an air of power and tradition. But tonight, those details barely registered. His focus was solely on the woman in his arms and her chest's quiet rise and fall. He settled her gently on a plush sofa in the sitting room, his fingers lingering momentarily as he brushed a stray strand from her face. Her breathing was steady now, the tension easing from her brow. At Nightglen, he could almost believe she would be safe from the dangers that threatened her.

  Mr. Jenkins entered, leading two servants and dismissing the rest. His steady and compassionate gaze met Caleb’s as he inclined his head. “It’s good to see you home, Master.”

  The familiar title warmed Caleb’s heart, a reminder of the bond they shared—a subtle acknowledgement of his true role here. Jenkins’ loyalty wasn’t born of duty alone; it was woven from years of shared trials and unspoken trust.

  “What’s happened while I was away? Anything changed?” Caleb settled into an armchair beside Celestia, never fully taking his eyes off her resting form.

  “Nothing but what you already know from the daily reports,” Mr. Jenkins replied, his tone reassuring. “The city is abuzz with rumours—some troubling, some just idle chatter. I’ve gathered the information you requested last week. But your return has been felt by all. Nearly two months since you were last here, Master.” A faint pride touched Jenkins’ voice, his gaze drifting to Celestia. “The staff is relieved to have you home.”

  Caleb’s hand rubbed his temple, sighing as he processed the last of Jenkins’ words. “And my parents? Any news?”

  A small, wry smile touched Jenkins’ lips. “Nothing new, Master. They’re at the Summer Estate, enjoying themselves as usual. Your Mother has sent invitations to banquets you need to join as heir. Your father has been silent as of late. ” Jenkins’ voice softened, a quiet levity meant to lighten Caleb’s mood.

  “Good.” Caleb’s shoulders eased a fraction, grateful for Jenkins’ calm professionalism. It was always like this with Jenkins—a steadying presence who seemed to intuitively know what Caleb needed to hear. “And the manor? Anything else I should know?”

  Jenkins’s eyes held a glimmer of pride as he shook his head. “All remains as you left it, Master. Every corner of the manor was prepared for your return. The staff is grateful for the last increase in budget, payments and salaries, and the small luncheon you had prepared for them last month.”

  Caleb took a deep breath, appreciating Jenkins’ subtle pride and unspoken dedication. “Thank you, Jenkins. You’ve always kept Nightglen in order when I’m not here. I could hardly ask for better.”

  Jenkins inclined his head, the weight of years of service and loyalty in his gaze. “It is my duty, Master. But it is you who brings true order to Nightglen. Without you, it is merely a house with some grass before it.”

  He reached out, his hand resting briefly on Caleb’s shoulder—a rare gesture, an unspoken promise of unwavering loyalty. “If there’s anything you need—anything at all—you know I am always here.” He looked down at Celestia, his expression a mix of curiosity and reverence. “And… she will have the care she needs here, Master. We are with you both.”

  Caleb’s heart stirred, and a quiet resolve settled over him. He turned to Jenkins. “Thank you, Jenkins. For now, just keep everything running as it should. I need to focus on Lady Celestia for the next few days. Send the Invitations and my usual Paperwork to my small office here in the Manor. As long as Lady Celestia needs care, I will stay at Nightglen Manor. Ensure she has everything she needs and inform me when there’s any change.”

  Jenkins’s hand slipped away as he gave a slight nod, his voice soft but firm. “Of course, Master. We all understand the importance of Lady Celestia’s safety. We stand ready.”

  With that, Jenkins commanded the servants and sent them to their tasks. As Caleb watched them disperse, he felt a sense of peace—a sense of home. The weight of his title, power, and responsibility pressed upon him, but he bore it willingly. He found himself anchored for the first time in years.