'The city's full reconstruction should be completed in about two days at the rate it's going,' Asher thought, his sharp eyes scanning the organized chaos below. He could already imagine the Barony restored to its former shape, its buildings standing tall and its people thriving again. But deep down, he knew that what he was witnessing was merely the beginning, the surface of a much greater struggle. Rebuilding walls and structures was one thing, but restoring the city's life force would take much longer.

'There's still food to worry about,' he mused quietly, his mind drifting over the realities of recovery. 'And farmland… lands for the farmers to work on.' He wasn't entirely sure whether earth-based ability users could rejuvenate the soil or hasten crop growth. Water, at least, wouldn't be an issue, the Barony housed several powerful water ability users, and their abundance alone would ensure that the rivers and wells never ran dry.

With that thought, Asher's form flickered and vanished from the city wall, leaving no trace of his presence behind. In the next instant, he appeared high above the Barony, suspended midair. Wind swept past him in gentle waves as he stood upon invisible footholds forged from Astra energy. Then, with the grace of a phantom, he began to run across the sky, each step lighting the air with faint, rippling energy.

Within minutes, he reached the Baron's Manor. Like a shadow, he slipped through the window of his chamber, the same way he had departed earlier. As soon as he stepped inside, his body shimmered and became visible once more, the light bending back into its natural course. The room bathed him in its warm glow, welcoming him back as though he had never left.

He turned toward the door, his expression neutral yet composed. Grasping the handle, he opened it and stepped into the long hallway beyond. His footsteps echoed softly against the crimson carpet that stretched along the marble floor, the faint rhythm of his stride mingling with the serene stillness of the manor.

As he walked, his brows arched slightly, his sharp senses picked up a familiar presence ahead. Annabelle Rivelle. He neither stopped nor slowed his pace, maintaining the same calm stride and dignified grace that came naturally to him.

Moments later, the young lady came into view. Her black eyes turned toward him the instant he approached, and her composed voice carried through the hall.

"Good morning, Tenth Sun," she greeted with a respectful bow of her head.

"Morning, Annabelle," Asher replied in his usual calm tone as he continued forward. "How was your night?" He spoke without turning, his eyes fixed ahead.

"It was… fine," she replied after a short pause, her voice soft yet steady.

He nodded lightly at her answer, saying nothing more. Silence settled between them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing faintly through the corridor. Every maid and butler they passed bowed deeply, showing reverence not only to their lady but also to the man walking beside her, the Tenth Sun of the Wargrave lineage.

Annabelle's gaze lingered on him from the corner of her eye. She tried not to stare directly, but it was difficult. Like her brother Caldor, she found herself deeply fascinated. The power that emanated from Asher wasn't loud or overwhelming, it was calm, composed, yet vast, like an ocean held within a human shell.

His movements were deliberate, every gesture refined. His presence commanded attention, not by force, but through sheer natural dominance. His charm, his elegance, the balance between serenity and danger, all of it drew her in against her will.

She could not help but wonder how powerful the other Wargraves must be if the Tenth Sun alone stood at such an awe-inspiring height.

Asher could feel her gaze, the subtle weight of her curiosity, yet he pretended not to notice. His expression remained impassive, a flawless mask of indifference.

"Tenth Sun," Annabelle's voice finally broke the silence. "I have an outrageous question to ask."

He didn't falter or even glance her way. "What is it, Lady Annabelle?" he asked, his tone steady and composed.

"How… how are you this strong?" Her words came out carefully, yet there was a spark of genuine curiosity within them. She knew the question bordered on foolish, even mad. Whatever method he had used to reach his strength, he would never reveal it. But she asked anyway, unable to suppress her need to understand.

For a moment, Asher remained silent. The question caught him slightly off guard. Then, with a faint exhale, he answered.

"There is nothing special about me, Lady Annabelle," he said at last, his voice calm but flat. "I am simply a Wargrave. Nothing else. That is all there is to it." His tone carried a finality that left no room for doubt.

He knew his strength often left others speechless. His talent, his power, his lineage, all of it placed him among the extraordinary. But he had no intention of concealing his abilities. Of course, he would keep certain secrets, trump cards that would never see light until the right moment, but in true combat, restraint was not a word found in his dictionary.

And for those who wondered why or how he existed as such a being, the answer was always the same: blame it on the Wargrave bloodline. The family had birthed monsters through generations. Malrik, the First Sun himself, had ascended to the pinnacle of the world at only thirty years of age. Few dared to dream of achieving such greatness.

Annabelle listened in silence, her lips curling into a faint smile. His words were honest, simple, even, but they carried the weight of undeniable truth. She had asked, and he had answered. That was enough.

Unlike the many women who might have been charmed into romantic fantasies by his presence, Annabelle's admiration was grounded. She respected strength, not beauty, not status. Her father, Baron Rivelle, had raised her to understand that in this world, power was everything. Borrowed power was a fragile illusion, a temporary light destined to fade. She sought something real, power that was truly hers, earned through struggle and persistence, not flattery or love.

Still, as she walked beside him, her thoughts briefly strayed. 'I wonder if he finds me beautiful,' she mused, though her heartbeat remained steady. Her face betrayed no emotion; she walked with calm dignity, her every motion refined.

Asher, on the other hand, did find her beautiful, her features elegant, her poise dignified. Yet beauty alone had never swayed him. He had met women whose allure could silence an entire room. Darissa Camber, Vaelra Lux Vanthelmor, Ryaen Silvershade, each of them possessed beauty that could rival goddesses, and yet Asher was unmoved. He was not the type to let desire cloud judgment. Relationships, for him, were not to be sought out of impulse or lust, but out of genuine affection, perhaps love, or at least deep respect.

If he ever gave his heart, it would be to someone who could stand beside him, not behind him. Someone with power or intellect, and will. It was that very quality that had once drawn him to Jennifer. Her brilliance and intellect had allowed her to dominate the medical department at the university for years.

"I suppose my answer wasn't what you were hoping for," Asher's calm voice broke through her thoughts, echoing softly down the corridor.

Annabelle blinked, slightly startled from her reverie. Then she smiled faintly and shook her head. "I didn't expect any particular answer," she said with a light chuckle. "I simply asked what I was curious about."

Asher's purple eyes finally turned to her, just for a moment, before drifting forward again. He gave a small nod, his expression composed as ever, and they continued walking through the crimson hall, side by side, two figures whose paths had crossed only briefly.

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