"Why is this?"
"Why have they become like this, even losing the essence of existence, reduced to worthless mixtures?"
"Even if the world were to face Destruction, and all things Dissolution, those powerless beings should just find someplace else to survive, right."
"But these traces, and this 'illness'... I don't know why, I always feel they seem familiar..."
A few days passed, wandering across the wilderness, the old soldier he had encountered long ago no longer there.
On the journey, Clotho witnessed many similar events.
The elderly scholar, the wounded in incurable pain, even a short-legged middle-aged man... various types flashed by one after another.
Of course, observing all this, the Fates felt no Mercy or sympathy.
Not because her spirit is particularly heartless or cold, but because she long since accustomed to facing Death.
As the Fates, to see their life and know their Death is a fundamental ability.
