Chapter 623: Felt It

She took the ruby out of her bosom and cupped it in her palm.

The Magic Staff was a bit straighter than before, its curved arc no longer as exaggerated, the cracks on its shaft were much shallower, and the dim light, though still weak, no longer seemed on the verge of extinguishing at any moment.

The ruby could heal itself, though it required time; Ilya knew this, yet she couldn't help looking down at it every so often to check how much the cracks had mended and how much the faint light had brightened.

"Ruby,"

She whispered, her voice sounding especially thin in the open ruins, "I still have a Command Spell; can I use it to sense where Zhigengniao Jiejie is?"

The ruby remained silent for a moment, the faint light on the staff's shaft flickered twice, as if contemplating.

"We can try,"

The voice was a bit stronger than before, yet still slow, each word separated by a breath, "The Command Spell is the deepest bond between Master and Servant... more useful than any Magic... close your eyes... focus your spirit... picture Miss Robin..."

Ilya paused, clutching the ruby to her chest, and closed her eyes.

She thought of Robin's blue long hair, of those lake‑green eyes, of the curve at the corners of her eyes when she smiled, of the way she slightly lifted her chin while singing.

The remaining Command Spell on the back of her hand warmed slightly, the heat seeping from the skin's surface, traveling up the veins, finally stopping at her chest, like a warm hand pressing there.

She felt it.

It was faint, like an ultra‑thin thread hanging from far away, ready to snap in the wind, yet it was indeed there.

Zhigengniao Jiejie was still alive, her condition not too bad, even much better than when that purple‑haired woman had controlled her before.

Ilya opened her eyes, tears nearly spilling, but she held them back, inhaled sharply through her nose, and shoved the ruby back into her bosom.

"Zhigengniao Jiejie is fine."

"That's good."

Even the ruby's voice carried a hint of relief.

The ruins ahead began to look less like ruins.

The collapsed pillars were no longer just haphazardly piled, but possessed some... order?

Ilya couldn't articulate the feeling; it was as if someone dumped a heap of puzzle pieces onto the ground, most scattered everywhere, yet a few landed exactly where they should, barely forming a corner of the original picture.

She stopped, lifted her head, and looked at the building before her.

It was a house in the style of an ancient Eastern kingdom, its completeness almost uncanny compared with the twisted, shattered ruins around it.

Cinnabar‑red columns rose from the ground to the eaves, their shafts engraved with intricate patterns, unmarred by weathering or wear, each line crisp as if freshly carved.

The roof tiles were bluish‑gray, laid one atop another in perfect order, edges intact, surfaces uncracked, glimmering faintly under the hazy light overhead.

The carved decorations on the doors and windows were also intact; the paper pasted on the window lattice had yellowed but not torn, tightly affixed to the frame, sealing everything inside completely.

The door was closed.

Ilya stood before the door, looking up for a long time.

Placed among the chaotic ruins, the house was like the sole uncreased spot on a crumpled sheet of paper, somehow more unsettling than the ruins themselves.

She glanced down at the ruby in her bosom; its staff shaft flickered briefly, then dimmed, as if saying, "I sense nothing; you decide."

Ilya hesitated for a long time.

She raised her hand, then lowered it, lowered again, raised again, repeating several times.

She wanted to leave but didn't know where she could go; the ruins stretched endlessly, and after wandering so long she found nothing, only drifting will‑o‑the‑wisps and a distant, ongoing rumble.

What if there were clues inside this house?

If…

She inhaled deeply, pressed her hand against the door, and pushed hard.

The hinges emitted a raw creak, the sound echoing through the open ruins, as if someone far away were also pushing a door.

Behind the door was total darkness, so black that when Ilya stood on the threshold and looked inside she saw nothing, only feeling a cool draft flowing out, brushing her face and sending chills down her back.

She stepped over the threshold and entered.

The door behind her remained ajar, a faint gray light from outside slipping through the crack, spreading a vague Light Band across the floor.

With that light, Ilya discerned the room's general outline—vast, far larger than she imagined, like a wealthy family's living room.

The furniture was made of dark wood, each piece carved with intricate patterns; though the details were indistinct, the heavy, solid silhouettes remained clear in the darkness.

A few calligraphic paintings hung on the wall; the subjects were unclear, only the rice‑paper showing a faint off‑white glow in the dark.

Dark wooden planks covered the floor; stepping on them produced a slight creak that echoed in the empty room, as if something were following her.

Ilya stood at the doorway for a while, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she slowly walked inward.

She placed her steps lightly, each foot landing within the shadow of the previous, striving to make no sound.

The vague Light Band behind her grew narrower and dimmer; by the time she reached the room's center, nothing was visible behind her, only boundless darkness surging from all sides, enveloping her.

She clenched the ruby, her palm slick with sweat.

"Snap."

The sound came from her left, faint, as if something had fallen from above and shattered on the ground.

Ilya's body froze instantly, her breath halted; she stood motionless, ears perked, straining to hear the sound from that direction.

Nothing else was there, only her own heartbeat thundering in her chest, rattling her eardrums.

She slowly turned her head toward that direction.

She saw nothing; the light from the door couldn't reach that far, only an impenetrable black.

Ilya stood there, legs feeling like they were filled with lead, unable to move yet too afraid to stay, her throat clogged with cotton, unable to call out, her legs too weak to take a step.

"Ruby..."

Her voice was as thin as a mosquito's hum, tinged with sobbing, "Is there... something over there..."

The ruby flickered in her bosom, its faint glow in the darkness resembling a star about to extinguish.

"No... no sense..."

Its voice was halting, each word drawn out, as if forced out with great effort, "Perhaps... it's a mouse... or..."

Ilya waited for a long time, but didn't hear the second half.

"Or what?"

"Or… not a mouse…"

Ilya's tears almost fell.

Ilya took a deep breath, held it in the chest for a long time, then slowly exhaled.

Then Ilya lifted a foot and walked step by step toward that direction.

With each step, Ilya felt she was about to collapse; with each step, Ilya felt that the next second she would turn and run away, but Ilya did not turn, did not run, only clutched the ruby and kept walking forward step by step.

Ilya touched a door.