The journey back to the Dukedom passed without incident. No storms, no sudden attacks, no interruptions. Just the steady sound of waves, the occasional rustle of the sails, and the quiet murmurs of knights tending to their duties.
It was almost unsettling how quickly the tension faded once they left the cavern behind.
Aeliana had expected her father to question Lucavion further, to press him for more answers, but instead, Duke Thaddeus withdrew, focusing on his own matters the moment they arrived. He had barely spared Lucavion another glance, leaving them alone the second they set foot on solid ground.
Lucavion didn't seem to mind. If anything, he looked rather pleased about it.
But Aeliana… she couldn't shake something from her mind.
She had meant to forget it, to brush it aside as just another one of his ridiculous antics, but no matter how much she tried to ignore it, the words lingered.
"And what happens if I don't take care of it?"
"Well, I don't know. I'd say… you'd probably die early?"
The way Lucavion had tilted his head slightly, smirk still there but thinner, weaker. The way his black eyes had turned distant, not in amusement, not in dismissal—but something else.
Something she couldn't name.
'That wasn't the reaction I expected.'
Aeliana had seen how people responded to the idea of their own death. She had lived through it herself, after all. She knew the numb disbelief, the hollow laughter, the anger that followed. The desperate need to fight against something that felt inevitable.
His reaction was none of those things.
He hadn't been surprised.
He hadn't even looked particularly concerned.
Aeliana's fingers curled slightly at her sides.
'What was that face?'
She didn't understand why it bothered her.
Why it felt like something was wrong when he had simply done what he always did—laugh, deflect, brush things off like they were nothing.
Aeliana barely had time to dwell on her thoughts when a sharp voice cut through the air.
"This is impossible!"
Aeliana's gaze snapped toward the source of the outburst, her brows furrowing.
Inside her chambers, standing rigid beside her bed, was Physician Luthier, the head of the Thaddeus Duchy's medical division. His usually composed face was a mask of shock, his hand trembling slightly as it hovered just above the bed where Aeliana had once spent years.
Aeliana straightened, her amber eyes narrowing. "What?"
The room was silent for a moment, except for the heavy breathing of the physician. Then—Luthier turned abruptly, his sharp gaze scanning the gathered servants, knights, and attendants who had come to witness his examination.
"She is cured." His voice wavered, disbelieving. "Completely. Not just improved—not just in remission—but entirely, utterly cured."
Murmurs broke out immediately.
The servants, who had spent years tending to their sickly lady, exchanging quiet looks of pity behind veils of formality, now whispered in disbelief.
"But her condition was—"
"Even the best healers—"
"How did this happen?"
Luthier's fingers curled into a tight fist, his eyes filled with something unspoken. Confusion. Frustration. Awe.
"There is not a single trace of the affliction left in her body," he murmured, as if trying to convince himself. "Her organs, her mana circulation, even her physical strength—it's as if she was never sick to begin with."
Aeliana watched him carefully.
'Why does this feel… strange?'
She had expected this reaction. Expected disbelief, expected people to be shaken.
But Luthier's reaction—it wasn't just professional concern.
It was something deeper.
As if this should not be possible.
A new voice entered the conversation, smooth and composed, carrying the weight of authority.
"Please, allow me to check as well."
Because that voice belonged to Magister Veylan, the court mage of the Dukedom.
A man with immense knowledge, a trusted advisor to Duke Thaddeus, and a renowned expert in magical afflictions.
The crowd parted instantly, as if an invisible force had shifted them aside.
Aeliana's gaze landed on the tall, robed figure who had stepped forward. Veylan's presence alone was enough to command silence.
His piercing gray eyes swept across the room before locking onto Aeliana.
He studied her for a long moment.
Then—without hesitation—he raised a single hand.
A deep, rich blue light flickered from his fingertips, forming intricate runes in the air—ancient scripts of diagnostic magic that very few could interpret.
Aeliana felt the energy wash over her, pressing against her skin like a current of water.
It lasted only a moment.
Veylan's expression shifted.
His fingers twitched slightly before he slowly lowered his hand.
"How can this be possible?"
His voice was not loud.
Weighted with something that made the room seem smaller.
Luthier turned to him immediately. "Magister, what did you see?"
Veylan didn't respond at first. His gray eyes remained locked onto Aeliana, his brows furrowing ever so slightly.
Then—finally—he spoke.
Veylan's gaze sharpened.
"It's not just healed." His voice was quiet but firm. "It's stronger."
A heavier silence fell over the room.
Luthier's eyes widened. "Stronger?"
Veylan slowly nodded. "Her mana flow is not simply restored—it's… more refined. More controlled. It's as if her body has undergone… a kind of reconstruction."
That word made something click in Aeliana's mind.
The same term that had been used when Lirian examined Lucavion.
The weight in the room grew heavier.
Duke Thaddeus had remained silent throughout the exchange, his golden eyes fixed on Aeliana with an unreadable expression.
Those who knew him—who had served him long enough—could see it. The barely restrained shift in his gaze, the way his fingers curled just slightly at his side, the subtle tightening of his jaw.
Holding back something.
Because now, it was confirmed.
His daughter had been changed in a way that defied all reason.
"No," Luthier muttered, shaking his head abruptly. "This is different from Body Reconstruction."
Veylan turned to him sharply. "What do you mean?"
Luthier's brows furrowed as he stepped closer to Aeliana, studying her as if he were seeing her for the first time.
"Her body did not break down and reform like in standard reconstruction. There is no sign of forced adaptation, no traces of instability. But…" His voice trailed off, his hands hovering slightly as if he could feel something unseen.
"There is something here. Some kind of energy… not just mana, but something else."
His fingers twitched as his eyes flickered with growing realization.
"It's the vitality of—" He stopped. A sharp inhale. "What… what is even this? Who came up with such a method?!"
Aeliana's brows drew together. "What method?"
His excitement crackled in his movements as he stepped forward, his hands gripping her arms.
"This energy," he said, his voice nearly breathless. "My lady, do you know what this is? This is the energy of the Skyroot Herb!"
The murmurs around the room grew louder, confusion rippling through the servants and knights alike.
It could not be refined into potions, nor could it be used in its raw form without immense preparation.
Luthier's grip on Aeliana tightened. "My lady, where did you get it? How did this even happen?"
His eyes gleamed with an almost frantic curiosity, as if the very answer could shake the foundation of medical knowledge.
But before he could press further—