Diana had stopped trying to measure time.
There were no days in the stolen realm of Vharos. The sky shifted between black and green, sometimes splitting open to reveal eyes instead of stars. The land itself twisted with every step. Reality, as she knew it, had long been discarded.
She didn't waste time anymore. She survived.
Athos perched on her shoulder, the owl spirit carved from stone and filled with spectral light. His voice was quiet, always calculated. "Do not speak unless it matters," he had warned early on. "Everything here has ears. Even the air."
Diana had learned.
She no longer relied on mana. The realm twisted and consumed it. Instead, she trained her body and her will to use spiritual energy in its rawest, most disciplined form. Athos taught her to keep it tucked beneath her heartbeat, subtle as a breath.
"Your soul is a signal," Athos had said. "If you shine too brightly, you invite what watches."
She listened. Practiced. Became a shadow among ruins.
