The next day,

Aria

The silver fork in my hand felt unusually heavy. As I sat at the long mahogany breakfast table, a dull, deep-seated ache radiated from my hips, my thighs tense as if I had spent the entire night sprinting through the snow instead of sleeping in a feather bed.

'I cleared a C-Class dungeon, so muscle fatigue is logical,' I reasoned, lifting the porcelain teacup to my lips. 'But why does it feel less like a battlefield strain and more like... a weight?'

My neck tingled beneath the high collar of my fresh black robe. When I had looked in the vanity mirror that morning, a faint,...