They were four.
Seated. Motionless.
Crusch, upright despite the fatigue, kept her gaze steady.
Felix, arms crossed, stared at the ground as if searching for an answer.
Wilhelm, hands clasped, seemed to wait for a signal.
Otto, slightly behind, hardly dared to breathe.
Crusch broke the silence. Her voice did not tremble.
Crusch : We are among ourselves. Speak plainly.
No one replied. The flame of a candle snapped, small, fragile.
Felix shot a glance at Otto. His tone, sharp, carried neither violence nor hostility—only that thin boundary one draws without realizing it.
Felix : Nothing forced you to stay. This isn't your fight.
Otto remained silent.
Crusch's voice cut through, clear, unyielding:
Crusch : He is the one who found me. Who carried me. Who saved me, when I did not even know who I was.
A weight fell into the room.
Felix lowered his eyes. It wasn't jealousy. It was something else, a muted burn, too late to matter. I should have been there, he thought. Not this stranger.
Wilhelm raised his head. His deep voice broke the muffled calm of the chamber. He did not look at Otto or Felix, but at Crusch.
Wilhelm : Any help is valuable. But if he remains, it must be with your consent, Crusch-sama.
Crusch nodded with measured clarity.
Otto, uneasy, slid his hands into his sleeves.
Otto : I didn't come to stay. I only wanted to do what I could.
The veil drew taut again, then Wilhelm broke the stillness:
Wilhelm : There is another name. The one none of us wishes to speak yet.
Crusch, softly:
Crusch : Him?
Otto frowned.
Otto : The man… who just left the room?
Wilhelm nodded. He set his gloved hand flat on the table, aligning it absentmindedly.
Wilhelm : He defeated the White Whale.
— He crushed the Archbishop of Sloth.
— He never bent. Not once.
Otto stepped back, as if struck by the words.
Otto : He brought down an Archbishop… alone? Is that… possible?
His eyes moved from one to the other. It was no longer a tale. It was a man he had just stood beside. A man… or something else.
Felix stiffened. His voice lashed out, taut as wire:
Felix : I saw him do it. She was still alive. Possessed… but alive.
— He cut her down. Without hesitation. Without flinching.
His fingers trembled. He stepped back, gaze lost in a memory too vivid.
Crusch, surprised:
Crusch : She?
Wilhelm lowered his head slightly.
Wilhelm : A servant of the manor. Someone many knew.
— Perhaps even… someone he knew as well.
The name of Guts hung in the air, an absent presence. Neither hero nor monster. A blade laid between them.
Crusch turned her eyes to Felix. Her gaze softened. Her voice remained low:
Crusch : Did I know him? Did I trust him?
Felix raised his eyes at once, struck to the core.
Felix : Yes. You admired him.
— You said he walked like a man who expected nothing, nowhere.
He stopped short; the bitter taste of silent loyalty returned to him.
Wilhelm added in a murmur, almost to himself:
Wilhelm : And that he moved forward all the same. Alone. Without ever retreating.
The weight thickened.
Crusch, more solemn, asked without detour:
Crusch : And today? Is it still respect… or has it become fear?
No one answered. The wood groaned within the walls.
Felix drew a short breath. His voice, when it rose, wavered:
Felix : And if he never changed? If what he is, he has always been?
— Can a man like that live here… with us?
Wilhelm answered, sharp, as if cutting an unseen rope:
Wilhelm : He does not live with us. He passes through our lives.
— Like a blade across a battlefield.
Otto murmured, eyes lowered:
Otto : And what if this man brought nothing but misfortune? From what I've understood… he did all this without forcing himself. As if it were natural.
The silence fell again, heavy, unbroken.
Crusch rose. Her voice sought neither to move nor to impose. It simply existed—clear, firm, necessary.
Crusch : Then… as long as I search for who I am, I would like you to stay, Otto.
She fixed him with her eyes. No attachment. Only a quiet lucidity.
Wilhelm sealed it:
Wilhelm : And as long as you remain… listen. Observe. Remember.
— Because one day, someone will have to remind us of what we once were.