Some time had passed since Penelope's adventure with Bexley, during which they had helped Ery find his way back to his domain, allowing Crane to rest and forcing Bexley to confront her own journey toward healing. With the excitement behind her, Penelope returned to her solitary life, dedicating herself to the task of keeping The Archive Hall safe and meticulously documenting magical items and their uses. It was a life filled with potential danger, yet it was essential for the stability of Ailward and future magical users.

Since that day, she had received several intriguing packages from the local museum, all labeled as unknown magical objects. As she opened one box, a strange twist of metal tumbled out, glinting in the dim light. Pulling her hair to the side, she grabbed her notepad and began to jot down the object's appearance, along with the date and time. It was vital to record everything in case something unusual occurred during her testing. After a few moments of experimentation, she discovered that it was a device intended to trap small to medium animals. Satisfied with her findings, she meticulously noted its purpose before moving on to the next box.

Hours passed as she delved into the contents of the various packages, her focus unwavering until she reached the final box. As she opened it, a gentle yawn escaped her lips, and in response, the Archives Hall conjured a steaming cup of coffee. "Thank you," she murmured softly, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug and savoring the rich aroma. She slid into one of the many chairs surrounding the oversized table, which was cluttered with her notes and magical items. With a contented sigh, she prepared to examine the last item when she heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open.

"Well, well, what brings the Angel of Death to my never-ending hall?" she greeted with an easy smile, but her expression quickly shifted to concern as she sensed something was amiss. "Is the gateway still open?" Setting her mug down with a soft thud, she moved toward him, holding the magical item—a coin engraved with an intricate hourglass design—like a lifeline.

Her heart raced as she awaited his response, the weight of the moment pressing on her. The atmosphere in the Archives shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. Penelope studied his face, searching for any signs of distress or urgency. She was ready to spring into action, her mind racing with possibilities of what could have gone wrong.