The withered, wrinkled, and sallow hand gripping the scepter, the old man, far removed from the shadow of a fifth-stage sorcerer, spoke with utmost seriousness.
"You must promise me, never to give up on pursuing that future, the possibilities you long for, the ideals you firmly believe in."
In this grey world, Eileen's figure seemed to solidify, as if truly coming to life before Ravenna's eyes, uttering these words.
His words should have imbued Ravenna with a sense of empowerment, reigniting her convictions amidst her memories.
Yet, Ravenna could only stare blankly at her grandfather's figure, at the aged face so vivid in her memory, unable to stir any emotion within her.
For if a single sentence could rally her spirits… what then would her ideals amount to?
