"Yu! Neo! Setsu! Is everyone okay?"
Wird, a senior official from the F.A.I.R department, rushed to the Frost Wisp hospital. She had a face almost identical to Shird's, except that she was a woman with jet-black eyes and long, flowing white hair. After forcefully opening the door, she saw Neo sitting casually, smoking a cigarette and playing PlayStation, despite having a broken left arm.
"Yo Wird, how are you? Come join me and play ~"
"Neo! I'm so relieved you're alive!"
Upon seeing Neo, Wird burst into tears and ran to hug him tightly. It was a grim scene; no matter how divine the Weavers were, in the eyes of humans, they were just warriors. They went to battle to achieve glory and return, or to sacrifice themselves, live or die—fate or personal choice, no one could say. Those who stayed at the front lines, the teammates and loved ones, were the ones who wished most for the warriors to come back. In this world, people could die at any moment, for any reason, or even without a reason, so they lived as if every day might be their last, enjoying everything to the fullest. Naturally, before the warriors went into battle, those who stayed behind had to prepare for the possibility that the other might either live or die, so they shouldn't expect too much to avoid being haunted for life. But… in the end, no one truly wants to die, so why shouldn't they be allowed to hope?
"Don't worry, Wird. I'm not dying anytime soon."
"Um, where are Yu and Setsuna?"
"They're in there."
After wiping away her tears, Wird opened the door to the room and was greeted by the sight of Yu and Setsuna hugging each other warmly and snoring. Yu's small face was pressed against Setsuna's huge chest, making Wird feel a bit self-conscious about her own size. Setting aside her insecurities, Wird smiled upon seeing that despite their severe injuries, they overcame everything through their mutual affection and simple physical contact. She cheerfully covered them with a blanket, but Yu immediately woke up and used his wind elemental power to shove Wird away, causing her to crash into the large medicine cabinet.
"Eh, Sister Wird?"
A few minutes later, Wird was being bandaged nearly all over her body with medical tools like syringes and scalpels—enough to kill a person—but it seemed her resilience as an assassin was a bit stronger.
"I'm sorry, sis. I thought there was an assassination attempt. Are you alright?"
"…"
Yu bowed his head to apologize to Wird, feeling both embarrassed for being interrupted while sleeping and guilty for causing her injury.
"Really… you should have knocked before coming in."
"Instead… you two need to explain to me why you were doing such things!"
Unlike Yu's guilty expression, Setsuna looked irritated and scowled at being disturbed while sleeping, which wasn't surprising given his personality. Despite being bandaged, Wird was so frustrated she shouted loudly, seeking an explanation for her current predicament.
"Mobius told me that hugging someone closely could help transfer vitality, so I just tried it out."
"Oh, is that all? I'm sorry, everyone!"
"It's alright, stand up."
Yu, with a humble tone, had to explain to the irritable woman, and seeing that fair face comforting others, who could not be moved? When Wird realized she had made a deadly misunderstanding, she immediately bowed to apologize. Perhaps no one was more lenient than these two, as Setsuna immediately told her to get up. To bear the burden of humanity, they needed to be stricter, but wasn't that "leniency" also a part of being human? They thought so, and they believed it.
"So, where are Shird and Free?"
After Wird's question, the scene shifted to the door of the scariest room in Frost Wisp, where Mao was being held—the F6 room. Free seemed to be dozing off, with his hat's eye allowing him to observe the surroundings even while asleep. Shird, in his child form, was holding a creature that looked like a cross between a cat and a bat, curled up and sleeping in his arms. The creature looked beautiful. At this moment, Shird jumped off the chair and ran over to Free. Using a sweet voice, he called Free and tugged at his sleeve with his tiny fingers.
"Free, Free!"
"… What is it?"
Free slowly raised his head with a sleepy expression and looked at Shird. He was surprised by Shird's small form, which, despite having seen it hundreds of times, always amazed him with its perfection.
"C-could I leave now? The situation seems stable and not too urgent, so… so…" "Alright, go ahead, don't cry."
At this, Shird, in his child form, began to shed weak, glistening tears. It was not surprising given his familiar and affectionate behavior. The tears fell from the corners of his eyes down to his chin, creating a figure that matched the sound and silence of the current space. The young man had to give in to those tears and let Shird go, making him jump for joy and scamper off happily.
"Shird! Remember this, I, Free, Weavers VIII of the Nine Council, have never regretted what I've done!"
"!"
Suddenly, Free's loud declaration made Shird turn around and look at him. Their eyes met, both filled with trust for peace. Shird saw Free smile a beautiful smile through his tears and then ran off.
Though Shird appeared optimistic, his inner state was deeply sorrowful. He wasn't sure why he had to leave his assigned position, feeling confused and panicked as his feet carried him away. When he stopped, the weak tears continued to flow. Why was this happening? He didn't know.
"Ah… I can't let it be like this…"
Wobbling as if grasping at a blind hope, Shird stopped at the door leading to the F.A.I.R department's work area. At this time, there were no staff present; the Nine Council had given everyone time off to explain Mao's absence to the public. Only the pale figure of Shird wandered in with a desperate look.
"Finally, I've found you… on the other side of this door…"
Shird collapsed, his body leaning against the lifeless door marked "F.A.I.R," which was the most secure door of the department, even the Weavers weren't allowed in. But now, V of the Nine Council was leaning against it as if wanting to listen, wanting to connect with someone on the other side.
"… Hello, door knocker. It's been a long time, hasn't it ~"
On the other side, Balthazar was thoroughly bored with being in the dimly lit interrogation room, rolling around like a cat trying to pass the time.
Whether male or female, sun or moon, joy or sorrow… The sun represents masculinity, positivity, and burning passion, while the moon represents femininity and… well, it has many metaphorical meanings.
Something beyond the sun and moon? The human mind can only infer an abstract, unclear image of the divine, but who thinks that… "God" is everything? A specific form, a mystical beauty, a ghost of the world… that is "God," right? Then we must mention the Weavers, the people granted the powers of "God." There were many types of divine beings in this world, most of whom vanished after the bloodiest "Purge" in human history. The Weavers seemed to be the remnants of those gods, possessing powers like those of "God," bringing light and salvation to humanity. But what happens if the inheritors of "God" encounter a real "God"? It could be a way to describe the epic battle between the three legendary Weavers and Balthazar, the criminal with an astronomical score. It seemed he was a "God," a monster that would bring calamity to humanity as long as they still breathed and existed in the world's very essence.
And what was he doing right now? The information intertwining with future plots seemed to blaze within his mind, an unclear fragment of a calamity that would bring true nightmares to humanity. But no one could know, for with those sparkling purple eyes, those scars like endless tears, and an optimistic smile like an angel's, even the void might not understand what he was contemplating.
"Ugh… I really want ice cream…"
A hungry lick of his lips was all he expressed at that moment, while the tears remained completely still.
Food? Was that the only thing he was thinking of right now? A chilling thought for those who reviewed his past crimes, Balthazar was aware of this. Everything he did only soaked up the fear of those who weren't here; they weren't present, but the crimes he committed were right here, at this very moment.