The soft glow of the healing chamber enveloped Mordred and Neron as they sat facing each other, the air thick with tension and emotion.
"Neron… it's too late for me, you know?"
"W-what are you saying…? Neron's brow furrowed with worry as he gazed at Mordred, who managed a weak smile despite the gravity of their conversation.
"Neron," The older man continued, his voice gentle yet tinged with resignation, "you need to understand that my condition isn't something that can be cured. It's a part of me, and it's not going away."
As the Grand Mage of the Kingdom, he had tried all the means possible—everything at his disposal—but none of it worked.
He couldn't be cured, neither could the damage done to his body be reversed. His condition would only worsen, until finally…
"With Magic, I'm sure we can find a way to do something about this!" Neron yelled out, finally displaying his childish self in the conversation.
