The young Raylen, who couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve years old, continued to sit at the edge of the tall bell tower. The boy didn't look sad, but neither did he look happy or at peace for someone his age. It was as though his soul was tainted by something beyond his understanding.
Emily, who has been observing him, felt compelled to keep him company, and she carefully inched towards the edge, feeling the wind ruffling her loosely braided hair. She sat next to Raylen, as if joining him in silence.
Both she and Raylen heard the clear footsteps resonating from the staircase before Viktor made his appearance. The Devil had his hands concealed within his black cloak, his gaze fixed on the large, time-worn bell suspended from the ceiling, and he walked around it.
'Don't you have something else to do with people your own age instead of following me?' Raylen asked, his head tilting to the right and looking out of the corners of his eyes.
