"What happened?"
Selaphiel asked, her voice low and urgent.
"I don't know"
Isolde responded, her eyes flickering uneasily to the bodies the elf had brought with her.
It was easy to distinguish which one was the real Lugh. His priestly robes still clung to him, now caked with blood, soot, and dirt.
The others, though eerily identical, were unscathed, their garments cleaner, their bodies untouched by harm.
They had started drawing connections, theories about how the ability he'd awakened worked, but that was a matter for another time.
What mattered now was the boy himself.
Selaphiel surged forward, golden strands of mana weaving from her fingertips as she cast healing magic into him.
"How did this even happen?"
She muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Isolde thought darkly, eyes narrowing as she watched the mana flow. There was no trace of residual magic in the air. The attacker had vanished without a trace, leaving no signature, no clue.
