And then Dila spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need… umm, Sir Zib," she said, hesitating slightly, "I need an herb. Something strong. I need to craft some potions..."
She paused, her fingers tightening around her own arm.
"…Because the one I have to fight... is King Albedo."
Her eyes drifted to the side again, as if avoiding the weight of her own words. Her gaze lowered, her expression dimming, her voice almost trembling now—like he was just too powerful, like it hurt just to say it.
Zib froze.
He was already facing Dila now, his back straightened in disbelief. His hand, which had been adjusting a microscope knob earlier, now hung limp at his side.
"…Wait, wait, wait," he stammered, eyes wide with shock. "You mean—your father?"
Dila didn't answer. She just stood there, her shoulders stiff, her jaw tight. Not a word came from her lips.
