Click.
The carved wooden door clicked shut. The corridor outside Liana's office suddenly felt profoundly quiet, as if the sound of their previous footsteps had been sucked inside along with them.
Roland leaned his back against the long wooden bench in the hallway. Crack. He stretched his stiff legs. Beside him, Rianor sat perfectly upright—but not out of a sense of strict etiquette.
Rianor's focus was entirely consumed by the Mana Glove on his right hand. His fingers flexed slowly. Bending, opening, tracing its metallic surface with a faintly furrowed brow.
"Passable instructor," Roland murmured, breaking the silence. "Strict, but thankfully not the type who relies on shouting."
Rianor didn't respond.
Roland turned, studying his brother's profile. "Hm? Is something different?"
The question hung in the air for a few seconds. Rianor finally lowered his hand slowly. "I don't know. Perhaps."
"That crystal earlier?"
