"Father…" a girl mutters, feeling an icy pressure in the air, cold and biting, like a winter wind slicing through her resolve.
"Yes?" He replies, his voice as sharp and frigid as the atmosphere around them.
"My guide… he's…" She coughs, the words catching in her throat.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he says slowly, the icy presence dissipating slightly. He continues, his tone as indifferent as ever, "Sin-iddin-apli, you're talking about your guide, right? He died?"
"Yes, I don't know how—I—" She struggles, her voice faltering, the words slipping away as if stolen by the chill in the room.
"Why did you kill him?" he asks abruptly, his gaze piercing through the dimly lit hall. "I just came from the meeting
Kokoro is dead. Funny how no one paid attention to his body; the Takashiro family should take it." He pauses, resting his hands on the throne—a throne as rugged and jagged as the man who sits upon it.
