Kafka sat there, rubbing his temples as his thoughts tangled together in a storm of worry. His head throbbed from the sheer weight of it all.
How was he supposed to save the world when doing so meant fulfilling a forbidden request he could never bring himself to complete?
Every solution he tried to imagine only led to another dead end. He could feel the ache behind his eyes growing sharper with each passing second.
Meanwhile, as he stared blankly at the floor, lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts, Vanitas was quietly observing him.
Her expression had softened into something contemplative, almost grave. She looked like someone who was debating a thousand things at once, her eyes flickering as though she were fighting against herself.
Then, slowly, her shoulders relaxed, and a kind of quiet resolve washed over her features.
She breathed in deeply, gaze lowering as she whispered under her breath, almost too quietly to hear,
"It seems...we have no choice. I'll have to do that."
