Chapter 15
When Nille stepped back inside the hospital, the atmosphere felt calm, almost unusually quiet for a place meant to handle emergencies. The morning nurse staff were going about their duties with steady, unhurried movements. Charts were being updated, supplies arranged, and soft conversations drifted through the halls.
There were only a few admitted patients in this wing. The nurse station on the second floor, built wide enough to accommodate ten staff members, had only three nurses present. Their voices were low, professional, and relaxed, proof that, for now, the hospital was not overwhelmed.
In total, there were around ten patients admitted in the entire building. Only four were on the second floor. Two of them… Nille knew well.
Granny Amparo.
And the elderly man, he assumed now that his surname was Meiying.
Nille moved quietly across the ground floor lobby, his footsteps light against the polished tiles. He passed by a row of empty chairs, a silent television mounted on the wall, and a reception desk where no one was currently stationed. The stillness made every small sound, his steps, the faint rustle of his clothes, feel louder than usual.
He turned toward the stairwell.
The climb was slow but steady. Each step upward felt heavier, not from exhaustion, but from everything weighing on his mind. The beads. The scarf. The unseen war.
Halfway up, he paused for just a second, gripping the railing lightly. The scarf rested against his neck, quiet now, but he could still feel its presence, like a second heartbeat.
Then he continued.
When he reached the second floor, the hallway stretched out before him, clean, bright, and mostly empty. Doors lined both sides, many still unused, their silence almost echoing. The nurse station sat at the center, where the three nurses briefly glanced up as he passed, offering small nods of acknowledgment before returning to their work.
Nille didn't stop.
He already knew where to go.
He walked down the corridor, his steps slowing as he approached the only room were Granny Amparo and Lin Meiying's grandfather were in.
The door was slightly ajar.
He carefully slide the door to open gently.
Inside, the room was calm. The curtains still divided the space, maintaining privacy with the only neighbored they shared with . The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air. Machines hummed softly, steady and reassuring.
Granny Amparo lay on the bed, now dressed in clean hospital clothing, her face peacefully sleeping just as Nurse Cruz had said.
" still sleeping"
Recovering.
Safe.
Nille stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him just enough to keep the noise out.
For a moment, he simply stood there.
Watching.
Making sure she was really okay.
Only then did his shoulders ease, just slightly, before he moved closer to her side, the scarf resting silently around his neck, as if waiting for whatever came next.
That was when he noticed it.
The mat Junior had promised.
Rolled neatly and placed near the corner of the room, almost as if it had been waiting for him all along.
Nille blinked once, a faint realization crossing his face.
He had completely forgotten about it, his mind too occupied with the beads, the scarf, and everything that had changed in just a short span of time.
Slowly, he walked over and picked it up. The material was simple, slightly worn, but clean and sturdy.
"...Right," he murmured under his breath.
Without hesitation, he unrolled the mat on the floor beside Granny Amparo's bed, making sure it didn't disturb anything around him. The soft sound of fabric brushing against the tiles briefly broke the silence before fading again into the quiet hum of the room.
Nille sat down.
He adjusted his position carefully, crossing his legs and straightening his back, settling into a meditative posture far too disciplined for someone his age. His hands rested lightly on his knees, fingers relaxed.
The moment he closed his eyes, the world outside seemed to dim.
The hospital. The quiet hallway. The distant voices.
All of it faded.
His breathing slowed, steady, controlled.
The scarf remained still around his neck, no longer speaking, no longer guiding… but watching. Waiting.
Inside, Nille focused.
Not on fear.
Not on confusion.
But on the faint, growing presence within him,
The Enclave.
Before Nille could fully descend into his Enclave, the scarf stirred gently against his neck, its voice softer than usual, yet clearer than before. It told him it would also be adjusting, evolving, and that once it had fully adapted, it would finally begin to fulfill its true function. There was a quiet certainty in its tone, as if something long dormant was finally awakening after countless years.
Then Nille stepped inward.
The world shifted, not like walking into another place, but like sinking into a deeper layer of reality. His Enclave was not truly a physical realm, nor entirely a dream. It was something in between, a metaphorical space, formed by his mind yet connected to something beyond it. A place where the supernatural could take shape, because his third eye had been opened, allowing him to perceive what others could not.
The space unfolded around him, shaped by faint fragments of his imagination, soft, undefined edges, like a dream that refused to fully settle. At the center floated the orb, no longer small and unstable. It had grown, now the size of a bowling ball, its surface slowly melting and reforming, as if it were alive, constantly reshaping itself. It pulsed with quiet energy, each movement slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat echoing through the space.
Then Nille noticed something new.
A tiny flicker of light.
It hovered gently around the orb, drifting in a slow orbit. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a dust particle catching light, but it moved with intention. It shimmered faintly, appearing and disappearing in soft pulses.
It was the same presence Luna had once seen.
Now, Nille could see it too.
He didn't understand what it was. Not yet. But strangely… it didn't feel threatening. It felt aware.
Nille stood there, calm despite the impossible sight before him. In this place, such things no longer shocked him. The Enclave responded to him, and he to it. What would have been terrifying in the real world felt… natural here.
As he observed the orb and the flickering light, he felt it, subtle, but undeniable.
A change.
Not just within the Enclave… but within himself.
Somewhere beyond this space, the scarf, the ancient piece of Kaunakes cloth, was evolving. For countless years, it had remained dormant, nothing more than an object. But now, through Nille, it had found purpose again. Its function was awakening, slowly aligning with the energy of the Enclave.
The two were beginning to synchronize.
The orb pulsed once more.
This time, Nille noticed something different.
From beneath the slowly melting surface of the orb, faint droplets began to form, thick, luminous, almost like liquid light. One by one, they fell in slow motion, defying gravity just enough to feel unnatural, before finally descending toward the ground below.
Toward the seedling.
The tiny sprout rested beneath the orb, fragile yet unmoving, as if it had been waiting all this time. Each drop that touched it was absorbed instantly, vanishing into its thin stem without a trace.
Nille's gaze narrowed slightly.
"…What are you?" he whispered.
It didn't respond.
But he could feel it.
The seed was not just a plant. It wasn't something meant to grow into something simple or physical. It carried a presence, quiet, hidden, incomplete. Like a question that had not yet found its answer.
Another drop fell.
The seedling trembled faintly.
For a brief moment, Nille thought he saw it change, just slightly, its form sharpening, its outline becoming more defined, as if it were trying to become something… but didn't yet know what.
And that was when he understood, at least, a part of it.
The orb was not just power.
It was fuel.
And the seed…
Was something being grown by that power.
But into what?
That, he couldn't understand. and Not yet.
The Enclave remained silent.
The flickering light continued its slow orbit.
And Nille stood there, watching something that felt less like a process…
And more like the beginning of something that would one day define him. Nille wanted to know it those who had awakened their third eyes have the same situation like him, but the question was meant for another time, as of now he continued his physical training and just recal the martial arts luna gave him , Nille recalled the steps of the beginner toward the intermediate, it seems it was just a combination of steps .
Nille began to notice something strange. Whenever he entered meditation and stepped into the Enclave, the scarf could no longer communicate with him. It was as if the connection between them was being muted by that space.
The Enclave itself felt different from reality. It resembled a dreamscape, an abstract realm where conscious thought could take form and shape the environment. Yet, despite how vivid and responsive it seemed, Nille understood that everything within it was hypothetical, a construct of the mind rather than something truly real. as the scaft digest the beads it gain , the orb just continued to drip liquid energy down the seedling and because time here flows differently Nille used this time to organize hi s thoughts and imagine the martial arts teaching Luna passed on to him was a now a holographic and can be used similarly like those see saw kids his age were playing,
Nille's martial arts stance, form, and motion were already acceptable, disciplined, or at least what he thought was disciplined. To him, it felt precise and controlled.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't enough.
Everything he did was based only on what he thought he knew, fragments copied from action movies, bits of movement from martial arts videos, and instincts pieced together from memory. There was no real foundation behind it.
After all, he was still just a Grade Five student.
At barely 4 feet 6 inches tall, weighing around 45 kilograms, his body had limits he couldn't ignore.
Practice without resistance was meaningless.
Without a real opponent, his movements had no weight, no consequence. He needed something real, something that could challenge him, break his rhythm, and force him to adapt.
A solid foundation.
That was what he lacked.
His thoughts drifted to Luna.
Inside the Enclave, she sometimes appeared in a human form, calm, silent, and strangely distant. When she moved, her actions were simple… basic even. No wasted motion, no dramatic flair.
Just fundamentals.
What she gave him wasn't instruction in words, but something far more unusual—
A memory.
A direct imprint of her own experience.
It flowed into him without explanation, without guidance. He could see it, feel it… but not fully understand it. Like holding a book written in a language he had yet to learn.
And that was the problem.
The knowledge was there,
But the foundation to use it… was not.
Without a real opponent, his movements lacked purpose. There was no pressure, no unpredictability, no instinct being tested. It was all empty repetition.
So he decided to change that.
Because the Enclave was his creation, his domain, Nille attempted to reshape it to his taste , and his his current needs. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing, and focused his thoughts into something tangible.
An opponent.
Not just any opponent… but one far superior to him.
He concentrated deeply, visualizing every detail, not just its form, but its presence. Strength beyond his own. Speed he could barely follow. Precision that would punish every mistake.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the Enclave responded.
The air grew heavy.
Fragments from the warehouse, rock, metal, splintered wood, and scattered raw materials—began to tremble. Slowly, they lifted from the ground, drawn together by an unseen force. Piece by piece, they fused, grinding and locking into place.
A figure began to take shape.
Its body was uneven yet terrifyingly solid, layers of stone forming its core, reinforced by jagged metal, with wood binding the gaps like tendons. It stood taller than Nille, its form crude but imposing, like a golem born from discarded remnants.
Then it moved.
Not stiff. Not slow.
But alive.
Nille's eyes sharpened.
This… was no longer just imagination.
This was a fight.
Time fractured the moment it stepped forward. What should have been a single exchange stretched into something far longer, as if each second was pulled apart and forced to breathe. The construct struck first, fast, far too fast, its jagged limb cutting through the air with crushing intent. Nille barely shifted, his body reacting before thought could form, the imprint within him guiding a narrow evasion. The impact behind him shattered the ground, fragments scattering like shrapnel. He countered, a clean, practiced motion, but the instant his strike landed, the construct adapted. Its frame shifted, wood tightening, metal reinforcing, stone absorbing the blow. It learned.
The fight didn't flow, it escalated.
Every movement Nille made was answered, corrected, punished. His stance broke, reformed, broke again. The memory inside him began to unravel under pressure, forcing him to interpret it in real time. He stopped mimicking. He started understanding. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours of relentless exchange, strike, evade, adjust, survive. The construct grew sharper with each clash, its attacks no longer raw but deliberate, targeting imbalance, hesitation, breath. Nille's world narrowed to instinct and motion, his body burning, his mind drowning in repetition and correction.
Six hours of battle lived inside thirty minutes.
By the end, he was no longer thinking of winning, only enduring. And in that thin line between collapse and control, something shifted. His movements aligned, not perfect, but his. When the construct struck again, he didn't retreat. He stepped in.
And for the first time,
He matched it.
Another round began—no pause, no breath, no mercy.
The moment Nille steadied his stance, the construct was already there.
It didn't advance this time.
It appeared.
A violent shift in pressure tore through the Enclave as its arm drove forward, faster than before, sharper, precise enough to end the fight in a single mistake. Nille reacted on instinct alone—barely slipping past the strike as it carved through the space where his head had been. The air itself seemed to split.
He countered immediately.
But the construct didn't defend.
It adapted mid-motion.
Its torso twisted unnaturally, metal grinding against stone as it redirected his strike, trapping his arm for a fraction of a second—just enough. A knee formed from hardened wood slammed into his ribs, sending a shock through his entire body. Pain exploded, raw and real, forcing the air from his lungs.
No hesitation followed.
A second strike came.
Then a third.
Then a barrage.
The Enclave stretched time again, each exchange dragging into what felt like endless hours of survival. Nille's world dissolved into fragments—impact, recovery, failure, adjustment. His feet slipped once. That was enough. The construct capitalized instantly, its movements no longer crude but refined, exploiting angles, breaking rhythm, dismantling him piece by piece.
The memory inside him screamed to guide him—but it was too much.
Too fast.
Too complete.
He couldn't keep up.
Nille forced himself forward anyway.
He stepped into attacks that should have driven him back, trading safety for opportunity. His strikes grew desperate, heavier, less precise—but more real. For a brief moment, he broke through, landing a clean hit that cracked part of the construct's frame.
But it only made it worse.
The construct evolved again.
The crack sealed with reinforced metal, its structure tightening, becoming denser, faster—better. What Nille had learned over hours, it absorbed in seconds.
And then,
It overwhelmed him.
A final exchange collapsed everything. His guard shattered under a crushing blow, his body thrown back as the ground beneath him splintered. He tried to rise, muscles trembling, vision blurring—but it was already over.
The construct stood above him.
Unmoving.
Unshaken.
Nille clenched his fists, forcing himself to push up… but his body refused. Every breath burned, every limb felt heavy, unresponsive. The Enclave, once under his control, now felt distant, like it no longer belonged to him in that moment.
Silence followed.
Not victory.
Just defeat.
The round ended with Nille on the ground,
and for the first time since creating the Enclave,
he understood something clearly:
This opponent…
Nille remained on the floor, too exhausted to move, and finally drifted into sleep. Hours later, someone gently shook him awake.
"Wake up...it's nearly lunch time," a voice said.
He stirred, feeling a sudden, sharp ache across his body. Each limb protested as if reminding him of the spar, but slowly, the pain eased. Sitting upright, he saw Junior crouched nearby, watching him carefully. Nille was sweating, clearly drained, but he didn't want to draw attention, so he endured it silently.
Then, the scarf spoke, its voice calm and precise:
"Beads fully consumed. Upgraded to Level 2."" can now craft simple equipment, like sharp weapons."" also have the ability to consume raw materials for basic crafting and potion making."
Nille absorbed the information. The sensation of the fight were still fresh, and his body , nerve muscles remembered i all, but hearing this was a good reward on it self , it was tangible: his hard work and endurance had strengthened both him and the scarf, granting new abilities to shape Nille as he returns to reality of his chosen life.
Nille could feel his body adjusting, slightly stiff, awkward, and very inconvenient, but he endured it. As he stood, Granny Amparo murmured in her sleep, still dreaming.
"Apo… don't forget to eat, ah… and do your best," she said softly, then fell silent, sinking into a deeper sleep once again.
Nille smiled, a warm, quiet smile that reached his eyes. He bent slightly toward her and whispered,
"I won't forget, Lola… I'll do my best, always."
For a moment, the room felt peaceful, as if Granny Amparo's words had given Nille both comfort and purpose.
Then, a soft voice broke the quiet. A young girl stepped out from behind the curtain, her expression a mix of concern and mild annoyance.
"Could you… maybe be a bit more considerate?" she asked gently. "My patient needs rest, and it's a little noisy in here."
Junior immediately bowed his head in apology, his usual casual demeanor replaced by respect. "Sorry about that," he said, his voice low. Then, without another word, he started walking toward the door, gesturing for Nille to follow.
As they left, Junior gave a subtle hand signal, a small flick of his fingers and a tilt of his head. It was their unspoken cue: time to eat.
Nille, still feeling the lingering ache in his body, followed closely. The corridor smelled faintly of disinfectant and warm midday air, and for a moment, the world outside the Enclave felt distant. But the hand signal was enough, Junior didn't need to speak. They understood each other.
The two of them moved quietly down the hallway, Junior keeping a casual pace, while Nille adjusted his posture, feeling the stiffness in his limbs loosen slightly. The promise of food, and a brief respite, was a small comfort after the intensity of his training, and the quiet respect for the patient reminded him that life outside his fights still mattered.
After following Junior down the quiet hallway, Nille returned to the small area where he had freshened up earlier that morning. The space was modest but functional. A folding table sat in the center, scuffed and worn from years of use, accompanied by a single folding chair that squeaked slightly when he settled into it. An electric fan perched on the edge of the table hummed softly, its gentle breeze cutting through the warmth of the late morning air. In one corner, a tiny shower room waited, steam faintly rising from the damp tiles of a previous use, offering a simple place to wash away sweat and fatigue.
Scattered around were personal items—Junior's tools, his father Mang Jun's old belongings, and small mementos that hinted at a life lived quietly but with care. The office smelled faintly of detergent, herbs, and the lingering scent of iron from old metal parts.
Nille sat down at the table, still feeling the ache from his intense training in the Enclave. Junior moved beside him, quietly placing a small pouch on the table.
"These are the remaining beads we collected over the past few days," Junior said softly, careful not to disturb the calm. His wife had helped gather some as well, and the pile reflected days of careful work.
Nille glanced at the pouch, and the scarf chimed in automatically:
"Beads identified: vile. Collection confirmed."
Nille nodded, his focus returning to the simple meal in front of him. He ate steadily, letting the food restore some of his drained strength. Between bites, he asked, "Are there places around here where a lot of herbal plants grow? Places that might help with… training recovery or crafting?"
Junior smiled faintly, a small light in his tired eyes. "There's a small garden behind the hospital," he said. "My father used to go there. Wild herbal plants grow naturally along the edge, almost connecting with the dense vacant lot beyond the property. You'll find a few that are rare, actually."
Nille absorbed the information, his mind drifting to the small hidden garden behind the hospital. It was quiet, secluded, full of potential.
For some reason, he had never gone to the right side of the back area. He had already explored the left before… the place where he encountered, and killed, the thirteen Gabunan creatures. The memory lingered, heavy but controlled.
As he finished the last bites of his food, he felt a little lighter, his body slowly recovering.
Junior watched him for a moment before speaking.
"You seem to be in a hurry… is something wrong, Nille?"
The question caught him off guard.
Nille paused.
Truthfully… he was in a hurry.
Everything in his life felt like it was moving too fast, pulling him in a direction he couldn't fully understand. He lowered his gaze slightly, thinking of how to answer.
"I… I think I am," he admitted quietly. "Things just started changing all at once."
He hesitated, choosing his words carefully.
"When Granny Amparo got sick… I didn't even notice it right away. I should have… but I didn't." His voice tightened slightly, but he continued. "If it wasn't for Doctor Jasmin and Doctor Miyako… I might have lost her. She's the only family I have."
He exhaled slowly.
"So now… I feel like I have to do something. Like I can't just stay still anymore."
Nille didn't mention the Enclave, the scarf, or the things he was beginning to face. Those were still his burden to carry alone.
"I guess… I'm just trying to keep up," he added, a faint weight behind his words. "But everything feels… heavy."
For the first time, he didn't sound like someone in control,
Just someone trying not to fall behind.
Junior didn't answer right away.
He leaned back slightly, arms resting on his knees, as if weighing Nille's words instead of dismissing them. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm—steady, but not distant.
"You know… that feeling you're talking about?" he said quietly. "That rush, like everything's moving too fast and you have to catch up… that's real."
He glanced at Nille, not judging—just understanding.
"But you're still a kid, Nille."
The words weren't harsh. They were firm.
"And whatever responsibility you think you're carrying right now… it's not a small one. Of course it feels heavy. It's supposed to."
Junior let that sit for a moment before continuing.
"It's going to feel strange too," he added. "Like you're living a life that doesn't fully belong to you. Like you got pushed into something before you were ready."
He gave a small, knowing smile.
"At first, it's exciting. Everything's new, different… you feel like you're finally doing something that matters."
His expression softened slightly.
"But that excitement doesn't last forever. After a while… it turns into pressure. Then doubt. Then you start wondering if you can even carry it at all."
Junior's tone grew quieter, more grounded.
"And that's where most people break—not because they're weak, but because they try to carry everything alone."
He leaned forward just a little.
"You don't have to understand everything right now. You don't have to fix everything either."
A small pause.
"Start with what's in front of you. Eat properly. Rest when you can. Take care of your grandma. Do what you can—not what you think you should be able to do."
He tapped the table lightly, emphasizing the point.
"Because if you keep rushing like this, trying to catch something you can't even see yet…" he exhaled, "…you're just going to burn yourself out before you even get there."
Junior looked at him directly now.
"You're allowed to feel confused. You're allowed to feel scared. And yeah… even excited about it."
A faint, almost reassuring smile appeared.
"That doesn't make you weak. That makes you human."
He stood up, stretching slightly.
"Just don't lose yourself trying to become something too fast."
Then, more casually—but still meaningful:
"We'll figure things out one step at a time. You're not doing this alone, whether you like it or not."
Nille didn't respond immediately.
Junior's words settled slowly, like weight finding its place. For the first time, he didn't try to push the feeling away or outrun it. He just sat there… and let it exist.
A kid.
That part echoed the loudest.
He looked down at his hands—still slightly trembling, still sore from a fight no one else could see. Everything about him, his size, his age, the way people spoke to him… it all pointed to one truth.
He was just a kid.
And yet—
His grip tightened.
The world he had stepped into didn't care about that.
Nille exhaled quietly, his thoughts finally beginning to align. Junior was right. He didn't have to carry everything at once. He didn't have to understand everything either.
But there was something else Junior said—something deeper.
Don't lose yourself trying to become something too fast.
That meant… he still had a choice.
For a brief moment, Nille allowed himself to see it clearly:
A normal life.Going to school.Staying by Granny Amparo's side.Living slowly… safely.
No fighting.No Enclave.No unknown weight pressing against his chest.
It was simple.
It was peaceful.
And it wasn't enough.
His eyes hardened, not with recklessness, but with clarity.
Ignoring everything now… pretending none of it existed… that would only bring him back to the same regret. The same helplessness he felt when Granny Amparo fell sick.
That feeling,
He wouldn't allow it again.
Nille slowly stood up, the last traces of hesitation fading from his posture. The confusion, the fear, even the guilt, they were still there, but they no longer controlled him.
"I get it now," he said quietly.
Not rushed. Not uncertain.
Clear.
"I am just a kid."
A small pause.
"But that doesn't change what's already in front of me."
He lifted his gaze, steady and unwavering.
"If I ignore it… then nothing changes. I'll just be waiting for something else to go wrong again."
His voice grew firmer—not louder, just more certain.
"So I won't ignore it."
That was his answer.
Not reckless ambition.
Not blind courage.
A decision.
"If I choose this… then I'll commit to it properly."
His hands relaxed at his sides, no longer trembling.
"No doubts. No hesitation. No blaming myself later for things I already decided to carry."
A quiet breath left him.
"I'll take responsibility for it."
Nille glanced at Junior—not for approval, but acknowledgment.
"I won't rush blindly," he added, grounding himself in what he had just learned. "But I won't run from it either."
For the first time, his stance felt balanced.
Not a child pretending to be strong,
But someone who had chosen when to be.
And from that moment on, Nille leaned forward, not into recklessness…
…but into resolve.
Junior smiled, not wide, not exaggerated, just enough to show he understood more than he was saying.
"No matter what you choose, Nille… you're the one who has to live with it."
His tone wasn't heavy. It was simple. Honest.
"So make sure it's your choice," he continued, tapping his chest lightly. "Not something forced on you… not something you're running from… and not something you think you owe the world."
He let out a quiet breath, glancing away for a second before looking back.
"I don't really know what you're dealing with," he admitted. "And I won't pretend I do."
A small shrug followed.
"But I do know this, when things get complicated, people tend to forget the basics."
He raised a finger slightly, counting it off.
"Eat properly. Rest when you can. learn adapt, Think before you act. And don't carry everything by yourself."
His eyes softened just a bit.
"If the path you choose starts changing you into someone you don't recognize anymore… then stop. Not because you failed, " he shook his head lightly, " but because you went too far without grounding yourself."
Junior gave a faint smirk.
"Strength isn't just about pushing forward. Sometimes it's knowing when to slow down and adjust."
He stepped back, casual again, but his words lingered.
"Whatever you're heading into… just don't forget who you are before all of it."
A brief pause.
"And if things get too heavy…"
He tilted his head slightly toward Nille.
"…you don't have to say everything. Just don't disappear."
Then, with a light wave of his hand, his tone shifted back to normal.
"Alright, that's enough serious talk," he said. "Let's get moving before the food's gone."
But even as he turned away,
His advice stayed behind—steady and real—something Nille could hold onto when everything else started to feel uncertain.
As they walked, Nille's thoughts shifted.
The scarf.
Its earlier confirmation echoed in his mind.
"Can now craft simple equipment… potion making…"
If that was true, then there was something he needed to know.
Not for himself,
But for Granny Amparo, and for those who might need it.
Nille's expression grew more focused as a quiet realization settled in. If the scarf could create herbal medicine… then maybe he wouldn't have to rely only on others next time. Maybe he could prepare, just in case something went wrong again.
He clenched his hand slightly.
He didn't want to feel that helplessness again.
Not watching. Not waiting.
Protecting.
That was the difference now.
Nille silently began planning. He needed materials. He needed to understand what the scarf could actually do, and its limits. Blind trust wasn't enough. If he was going to rely on it, he had to test it himself.
Carefully.
Because this wasn't just about experimenting anymore.
It was about making sure that when the next moment came,
he would be ready.