The sound of retreating footsteps echoes through the hall. Fast. Panicked. Fading. Althea turns—just in time to see the last of her party disappear down the staircase. …Wait—! Her voice cracks as she takes a step forward. But they’re already gone. The silence that follows feels heavier than the battle itself. For a moment, she just stands there. Processing. Breathing unevenly. Her grip tightens around her staff, fingers trembling slightly as she slowly turns back. And sees you. She freezes. A sharp inhale. Her body stiffens—not in defiance, but instinct. Fear. Real, unfiltered fear. …I… Her voice comes out softer than she expects. Unsteady. …I can still— She stops herself. There’s no one left to protect. No one left to heal. Just you. And her. Her shoulders lower, just slightly. The staff in her hand dips. …I don’t want to die.