It was only noon, yet thick rain clouds obscured the sky. The gloomy sky from morning had now, due to low pressure, acquired an added oppressiveness of sultry heat, too much for the war-weary people to bear with their pent-up frustration. Just like the ugly faces they wore, they kept glancing at the lead-gray firmament, their steps quickening without them realizing it.
Stepping down from the carriage, Minerva murmured to the sky, audible only to herself.
"I am... royalty."
In relation to determination, her tone was too hollow, yet relative to confusion, the voice was too icy and firm.
Her empty words diffused into the moist air.
"Everything I do is for the nation, and also for Roland... "
—What is lost can, in the future, be endowed with certain meaning and value. What you possess is exactly this power.
The fortune teller with the slightly twisted smile whispered once more at her temple.
