The silence after destruction was unbearable.
No cheers. No horns. No voices.
Only the hiss of cooling stone and the whisper of wind over glassed earth.
Riureas stood at the heart of what had once been Rosa Azul. His aura dimmed, his cloak hanging heavy with ash. Around him, the ruins stretched endlessly—a kingdom erased in a single night.
For a long moment, he did not move. The weight of his army's echo still pulsed in his veins, the roar of a billion voices fading back into silence.
Riureas (whispering):
"…and yet, even this doesn't ease the silence they left behind."
He turned slowly, his eyes falling once more on the shattered sapphire obelisk. Its fragments still glowed faintly, lines of quill-marks smoldering with ancient power. A remnant. Proof that Rosa Azul had been built upon more than mortal ambition.
But the Eternal Quill that had whispered to him… was gone. Buried or fled, he could not tell.
Riureas clenched his fist.
Riureas (to himself):
"I erased the kingdom… and with it, a piece of truth."
A shadow stirred at the edge of the ruins. Not one of his own summons. Something older, watching. Its presence seeped through the cracks of reality, faint but sharp, like ink bleeding across parchment.
Voice (distant, hollow):
"…Author… every quill you destroy… every kingdom you burn… you draw closer."
Riureas's eyes narrowed.
Riureas:
"Then watch closely. I won't stop until I hold them all."
The shadow receded, leaving only silence.
At his feet, the bodies of his companions remained still, untouched by flame. He knelt, brushing a hand over Clara's hair, then over Elra's cold fingers.
His authority stirred faintly. The power to rewrite. To bring them back.
But the fury within him still burned hotter than that mercy.
Riureas (low, steady):
"Not yet. Not until I've carved out every lie from this world."
He rose again, cloak snapping in the northern wind. His gaze turned eastward, toward the lands of the Eastern Treaty—the next shadow waiting across the seas.
Rosa Azul was gone.
The world trembled with his wrath.
And the Author walked forward, his path inked in blood and betrayal.
The ruins of Rosa Azul stretched into the horizon—silent, lifeless, erased.
Riureas stood alone among the ash, his cloak heavy, his aura faint as dying embers.
His hand lingered on Clara's cold shoulder, but he couldn't summon the strength to act. Not yet. The fire of vengeance still smoldered too deep in his chest.
Riureas (thoughts, bitter):
"What am I even building? A Federation? A future? Or just graves upon graves, written in my hand?"
For the first time since the Federation's birth, doubt clawed at him. His fist trembled. He almost wanted to let the silence take him too, to sink into the emptiness Rosa Azul had become.
And then—
A voice. Soft, warm, impossibly out of place in the wasteland.
Solana:
"Riureas, don't forget… I'm still here."
He froze. The sound was not carried by wind, nor born from memory. It simply was.
Solana (gentle, steady):
"There's hope. Even though I'm unfinished—even though I'm just fragments of ink—I can still stand with you. If not in battle, then in words."
The ash around him seemed lighter, the silence less suffocating.
Riureas closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. His trembling eased, though the weight in his chest remained.
Riureas (softly):
"Solana… even when everything else betrays me… you still remain."
For the first time since the massacre, his gaze lifted from the ground. The horizon no longer looked so empty.
Solana (faint smile in her tone):
"You don't carry this alone. You never did. You have your companions, your Federation… and me, even if I'm only half-written. Let me be your reminder. That the Author's words aren't only for judgment… but for hope."
Riureas stood in silence, the ember glow of his aura faintly returning. The blackened ruins no longer looked like the end, but a scar—a scar he would carry forward.
He knelt once more, brushing his fingers over Clara's hair, Elra's cheek, Elizabeth's arm.
Riureas (resolute, whispering):
"Then I'll bring them back. Not for vengeance. Not for rage. But because they still have futures to write."
The wind shifted, carrying away the ash. And for the first time since Rosa Azul's fall, Riureas's heart beat not only with fury—but with resolve.
Solana:
"You think everything is slipping from your hands. But listen—your journey isn't just about carrying the Federation, or punishing betrayal. The Eternal Quills… they are more than keys to truth."
Riureas lifted his head, his eyes narrowing faintly.
Riureas (low, cautious):
"…More than truth?"
Solana's voice grew clearer, as if her half-written form pressed closer through the veil.
Solana:
"Yes. The Quills are creation itself, the ink that first shaped this world. Through them, you'll uncover your existence. Through them, you'll find the answers you crave. But, Riureas… they can do more."
The wind carried her words like whispers of light.
Solana:
"They can restore. With them, the stories of the fallen don't have to end. Your companions… Clara, Elra, Elizabeth, all of them—if you find the Eternal Quills, you can bring them back. Not shadows. Not half-breaths. Truly alive."
His breath caught. For the first time since the massacre, hope flickered in his chest. Small, fragile—but real.
Riureas (whispering):
"Revive them… not as echoes, but as themselves…"
Solana's voice softened, carrying warmth like dawn through ash.
Solana:
"Exactly. That's why you can't stop here. The Federation needs its Author. And your friends need you to believe they are not lost. Don't let Rosa Azul's ashes blind you—there are still Quills waiting. And with them, new life."
Riureas's aura stirred again, faint sparks of violet flame dancing around him. He clenched his fist, no longer with despair, but with renewed resolve.
Riureas (to himself):
"Then that will be my vow. I'll seize the Quills—not just for truth, not just for power—but to restore them. My companions will rise again."
He looked at the horizon, his voice steady, unshaken.
Riureas:
"Even if I must erase a hundred kingdoms, I'll find the Quills. And when I do… none of them will be lost to me."
The ruins of Rosa Azul whispered with the echo of his vow, and the Author walked forward, hope kindled once more in the ashes of despair.
The wind stilled.
Ash drifted across the ruins like dying snowflakes.
Then, without warning—
CRASH.
A blade of radiant ink and burning light dropped from the heavens, embedding itself into the shattered plaza where Rosa Azul's obelisk once stood. The earth shook, cracks spreading outward as if the sword's arrival had rewritten reality itself.
Its hilt glowed with threads of quill-marks, curling like strokes of ancient writing. Its blade shimmered between steel and ink, half-real, half-idea.
Riureas froze, eyes narrowing at the sight.
Riureas (low, wary):
"…A sword?"
Solana's voice rang through the silence, softer than before—but resolute.
Solana:
"Not just a sword. This is a fragment of the Quills' will. It fell because you still carry hope… because I still believe in you."
The glow of the weapon pulsed, as if alive.
Solana (firmer now):
"Pull it from the earth, Riureas. If you do… Rosa Azul will rise again. Not in betrayal. Not as it was—but rewritten, restored. The people, the city, even its monarch… breathing once more."
His eyes widened slightly. The thought was impossible—yet the blade radiated power older than the Federation, older even than him.
Riureas (to himself, torn):
"Recreate Rosa Azul… undo what I destroyed…?"
His gaze fell back on his companions' lifeless forms. Clara. Elra. Elizabeth. All waiting, silent, trusting even in death.
Solana's voice softened, like a hand reaching for him through the void.
Solana:
"This is more than revival, Riureas. It's a test. Will you let wrath define your words? Or will you write them anew? The Eternal Quills are not just weapons of judgment—they are tools of creation. Show them that the Author can choose to restore."
The sword's glow brightened, casting light across the ruins. The air itself seemed to wait for his decision.
Riureas's hand twitched. For the first time since Rosa Azul's fall, his heart wavered not with despair or fury—but with the possibility of redemption.
He stepped toward the sword, each footfall echoing across the ruined plaza.
Riureas (whispering):
"If I pull this blade… Rosa Azul returns. If I leave it… it remains ash."
He reached out, his hand hovering just above the hilt. The heat of its power licked at his skin, neither burning nor soothing—just waiting.
Solana:
"Choose, Riureas. This is the first Quill's trial."
The ruins held their breath.
And the Author wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
The hilt was warm beneath his fingers—alive, pulsing with an ancient heartbeat.
The ruins trembled as if the world itself braced for his choice.
Riureas tightened his grip. His cloak snapped in the rising wind, violet sparks flickering from his aura. For a moment, the silence of Rosa Azul pressed against him… then he pulled.
SHHHHHHRRRRRAAAAK!
The blade tore free of the earth, not with the weight of steel, but with the sound of ink spreading across parchment. The ground split open, glowing lines of script racing outward in every direction like living veins of light.
The sky erupted. Quills of fire and crystal rained downward, not as weapons but as brushstrokes, weaving themselves into towers, bridges, walls. Sapphire blossoms bloomed from the ash, streets formed from glowing ink, canals rushed with water that had not flowed in centuries.
The dead stirred. One by one, the citizens of Rosa Azul gasped awake, their eyes opening as though from a long dream. Soldiers dropped their weapons in awe, not fear. Children clutched their parents, alive once more. Even the monarch rose from the shattered steps, their crown whole, their robes unstained.
All around him, Rosa Azul was reborn—not as it had been, but brighter, stronger, alive with the eternal glow of creation.
The people fell to their knees, voices trembling with awe.
Crowd:
"The Author… he restored us…"
Above, the blade in Riureas's hand blazed like a star. Quill-marks ran up its length, glowing brighter with every heartbeat. The very air sang with its presence, a hymn of renewal.
Solana's voice rang clear, proud, unshaken.
Solana:
"This is your proof, Riureas. The Eternal Quills do not only destroy. They can recreate. They can revive. You are not only the hand of judgment—you are the hand of restoration."
Riureas's eyes swept across the city, his expression unreadable. The monarch stared at him in reverence and terror, clutching the relic he had once given them.
And behind him—
Clara stirred.
Elra's fingers twitched.
Elizabeth drew a shallow breath.
Yullues's eyes fluttered open.
Crystella's aura flared faintly.
One by one, his companions returned—not as shadows, but alive, whole, breathing.
Riureas turned, meeting their confused, half-dreaming gazes. For the first time since Rosa Azul's betrayal, warmth returned to his voice.
Riureas (softly, but firm):
"Rise. We are not finished yet."
The sword pulsed in his grip, a fragment of the Eternal Quills' true power. Its glow bathed the reborn city in light, etching Riureas's name deeper into legend.
The Author had erased Rosa Azul.
Now he had restored it.
And the world would never forget.
As the light of Rosa Azul's rebirth settled into stillness, the blade in Riureas's hand shifted.
Its glow dimmed to a steady radiance, the ink-like markings along its edge curling inward until they condensed into a single luminous feather.
With a soft hum, the sword dissolved into Riureas's palm—leaving behind a quill. Sleek, radiant, etched with characters no language had ever spoken, yet heavy with creation's weight.
It pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
Solana's voice whispered, reverent and certain:
Solana:
"The First Quill has chosen you."
Riureas stared at it, his hand trembling slightly—not from weakness, but from the immensity of what it meant. He had not only restored Rosa Azul… he had claimed one of the Five.
The crowd's whispers swelled into cries of awe, their voices echoing like waves against the city's newly reborn walls.
Citizens:
"The Quill of Eternity…!"
"The Author holds it!"
His companions, still unsteady from resurrection, watched him with wide eyes—fear, faith, and wonder all tangled together.
Riureas lifted the quill, its tip glowing faint violet in the dusk.
Riureas (low, to himself):
"One of five… Then this is only the beginning."
The sky above shimmered faintly, as if the other four quills had stirred in distant slumber, aware that the first had been claimed.
Solana:
"Yes, Riureas. You've taken the first step. With each Quill, truth will reveal itself… and with all five, your destiny will be decided."
Riureas closed his hand around the quill, his eyes burning with new resolve.
Riureas:
"Then let the world be rewritten. Until the final quill is mine."
And with that, the legend of Rosa Azul's resurrection was sealed into history—an event the world would whisper about for centuries: the day the Author claimed the First Quill.
The resurrection of Rosa Azul shook the continent like thunder. Rumors spread faster than fire—that the Author had revived a dead city, and in doing so, claimed the First Quill.
But while legends stirred among the people, politics stirred among rulers.
In the capital, banners of two powers were raised side by side—the crimson star of the Federation and the silver wolf of the Northern Treaty. In the great marble hall, delegates of both factions signed their marks upon a parchment older than either kingdom.
The accord was read aloud:
"An alliance sworn by necessity, not by blood. The Federation and the Northern Treaty shall stand together against the encroaching ruin. Each sovereign shall keep its crown, its council, and its voice."
The hall erupted with restrained applause. It was unity, but not union—an oath of mutual defense, not surrender.
Whispers still cut the air.
Federation noble (low):
"They will never truly trust us."
Northern envoy (whispering back):
"And we will never bend to their council. This is survival, nothing more."
Yet above all the doubt, the announcement stood: the Federation and the Northern Treaty were allies.
When Riureas arrived, quill at his side, the hall fell into silence. Both sides eyed him—the man who had undone death itself. His mere presence was heavier than parchment or signatures.
Solana's faint voice whispered in his mind:
Solana:
"Do you see, Riureas? Even kingdoms bend when legends move. But remember—they are not one body. This alliance is fragile, brittle. One spark, and it may burn."
Riureas's eyes swept the gathered rulers. His grip tightened on the First Quill.
Riureas (to himself):
"Then let them bicker. Whether they hold as allies or break into enemies… the Author writes the ending, not them."
And so, while the world celebrated a new alliance, a deeper truth lingered in silence: this was not peace, but the sharpening of blades pointed in the same direction.
The dawn after Rosa Azul's resurrection burned gold against the city's reborn towers. The streets were alive with voices, but Riureas and his companions had little time to linger.
Escorted by envoys of the Northern Treaty, their caravan wound its way through the high passes toward their next destination: Ciudad de Plumas.
The name alone stirred something in Riureas. Feather City. A title not in the common tongue of this world, but in Spanish—Earth's language. His language.
When the city came into view, Riureas felt his chest tighten.
Whitewashed walls glowed beneath the sun, their red-tiled roofs gleaming like fire. Balconies arched outward with wrought-iron railings, plazas opened wide with fountains at their hearts, and narrow streets wound in patterns he knew too well—patterns of Seville, of Toledo, of Madrid.
The others looked on with curiosity, remarking on its beauty, its strangeness. But Riureas alone understood the deeper familiarity.
Clara (whispering, awed):
"It looks nothing like the Federation's cities…"
Elra:
"It's as if it belongs to another world entirely."
Riureas said nothing at first, his eyes tracing every curve, every arch. The church-like spires, the symmetry of the plazas, even the carved feathers set into the stonework. This was no coincidence.
Solana's unfinished voice stirred in his mind.
Solana:
"You recognize it, don't you? The design, the spirit… It is a fragment of where you came from."
Riureas clenched his fist around the First Quill, his voice low.
Riureas:
"…Spain. A city of Earth, written here as though memory itself had bled into this world."
Elizabeth looked at him, frowning faintly.
"Spain? Riureas, what are you talking about?"
He didn't answer her. His gaze lingered on the feathers etched into every wall, every gate. To his companions, this was simply the artistry of the Northern Treaty. But to him, it was something else entirely—an echo of the world he had lost, now rewritten into this one.
The gates of Ciudad de Plumas opened to them, guards saluting as the caravan rolled forward. Music drifted from the plazas, Spanish guitars and voices carrying on the wind.
And in Riureas's chest, a storm brewed.
If Earth's cities existed here, even reshaped, then perhaps the truth of his existence was closer than he thought. Perhaps the Eternal Quills had already written fragments of his lost world into this one.
Riureas (to himself, steady):
"Feather City… what are you hiding from me?"
The caravan pressed forward, the reborn Author stepping into streets that belonged to two worlds at once.
As the caravan rolled deeper into Ciudad de Plumas, Riureas's unease grew.
Every corner of the city whispered of Earth. The carved angels above the gates, the tiled mosaics in the plazas, even the rhythm of the market songs — all echoes of a world that no one else here should know.
His companions admired the architecture in passing, but to Riureas it was undeniable. This city wasn't inspired by chance.
He slowed his pace, eyes narrowing at the governor's palace rising over the central plaza — a grand structure with whitewashed stone, crimson tiles, and banners bearing the mark of a quill wrapped in feathers.
Riureas (to himself):
"…This place wasn't built by them. It was written by someone who remembers."
Solana's faint voice brushed against his thoughts:
Solana:
"You're beginning to see it, Riureas. This city carries the hand of a stranger — one who came from the same place you did. Another worlder."
His grip tightened on the First Quill.
Riureas:
"If that's true… then the governor of this city isn't just another ruler. He could be like me. An Author. Or worse — a failed one."
Elizabeth tilted her head, hearing him murmur.
"Like you? What do you mean?"
He didn't answer her. His gaze was fixed on the palace doors. For the first time since he had arrived in this world, there was a chance — however faint — that he might meet another soul who understood the truth of Earth.
But with that possibility came another thought, darker, heavier:
If the governor is a worlder… then he might already know who I am. And he might not welcome me as kin.
The bells of the city rang out, announcing their arrival. Guards opened the plaza gates, and the people of Ciudad de Plumas gathered to watch the caravan enter.
Riureas's expression remained calm, but within, his thoughts were sharp and heavy.
Riureas (to himself):
"…Another worlder, ruling a city. If he exists, then my presence here is no accident. The Eternal Quills… they're pulling us together."
-Makoto's POV-
"My sensei, Masashi, he was celebrated writer back in the old world---a kind and responsible teacher, but bone night, he's on a hurry, I saw him open his apartment door, but as a close my eyes for a moment, he suddenly vanished after passing out, I thought I can help him, but he's gone."
"I thought.... I'll be the first one to go.... "
....
-Riureas's POV-
The streets of Ciudad de Plumas hummed with life — guitar music, open plazas, and markets glowing under the Spanish sun. But beneath its warmth, Riureas couldn't shake the weight in his chest. This city wasn't just foreign. It was familiar.
And then… he saw her.
A woman with long dark hair tied loosely, standing at the far edge of the plaza. Her eyes lingered on him with a recognition that cut deeper than any blade. She didn't look like the Treaty folk. She didn't even look like she belonged to this world.
Riureas froze. His breath caught.
Riureas (whispering): "…Makoto…?"
For a moment, the world blurred. The same neighbor who once smiled faintly at him in the apartment hallway, holding grocery bags with trembling hands. The same Makoto Kamada who had vanished along with him, taken by illness, but Riureas, his soul was transferred.
But here she stood, alive — dressed in Northern garb, her presence sharp and steady, as if she had always belonged to this world.
Solana's voice brushed against his mind, quieter than usual, as though uncertain:
Solana: "Another… worlder."
Makoto didn't approach him. She only turned slightly, her lips curving into a knowing smile. Then she walked away, vanishing into the narrow alleys of Ciudad de Plumas.
Riureas clenched the First Quill tighter. His companions looked at him, confused, but he couldn't explain. Not yet.
Because in his heart, he knew the truth:
Makoto Kamada had died on Earth.
And yet, in this world, she lived.
Not as a memory. Not as a ghost.
But as a rival piece in the Author's grand design.
As Riureas stood frozen in the streets of Ciudad de Plumas, the memory struck him like lightning.
Not just a neighbor. Not just the sickly girl in the next apartment.
She was Makoto Kamada. His writing student.
Back on Earth, she used to leave handwritten notes at his door, timidly asking for feedback. She wanted to learn how to craft stories — to give life to characters, even while her own body failed her. He remembered those quiet evenings, sitting across the table, her notebooks filled with messy but passionate drafts.
She always said: "Sensei… if I can't live long, then at least let me live inside words."
And now, here she was.
Alive.
Standing in the world of words itself.
Makoto's gaze lingered on him across the plaza. For just a second, the noise of the Spanish city faded, and it was like the apartment hallway all over again.
Riureas whispered, almost to himself:
"My student…"
Solana's voice stirred, unusually serious:
"So she, too, has crossed over. Another Author. One who carries your teachings… but not your chains."
Makoto's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. Then, without a word, she turned and disappeared into the alleys of Ciudad de Plumas.
The alleys of Ciudad de Plumas twisted like veins of marble, painted with white walls and red tiles, balconies draped with flowers. Riureas followed, his boots echoing, his companions close behind. But no matter how quickly he moved, Makoto's figure always seemed one corner ahead — never vanishing, never fully caught.
At last, the pursuit ended at the city's heart: Plaza de las Plumas, where a grand white palace rose with towers shaped like quills. Its gates stood open, and citizens bowed as Riureas approached.
Guard Captain (bowing):
"The Governor has awaited you, Author. Please, enter."
Clara frowned.
Clara: "Wait—how could she know we'd be here?"
Riureas said nothing, but his chest tightened.
Inside the palace hall, sunlight poured through stained glass shaped like feathers, casting rainbows across the marble floor. At the far end, upon a chair carved of silver and jet, sat Makoto Kamada.
She wore a mantle of black and crimson, her hair tied with a silver quill pin. Her eyes were calm, steady — but warmer than Rosa Azul's cold monarch.
Governor Makoto: "…So you've come at last, Sensei."
Clara, Elra, and the others exchanged startled glances.
Riureas's hand trembled slightly at his side.
Riureas: "So it's true. You're the Governor of this city."
Makoto rose slowly, her steps quiet as she approached.
Makoto: "When I died, I thought my words would fade too. But this world gave me another chance — not to write from the shadows, but to shape a city with my pen. Ciudad de Plumas is my story, Sensei. Every arch, every law, every song sung here… is mine."
Elra muttered under her breath.
Elra: "Another worlder… but one who rules instead of wanders."
Riureas's voice hardened.
Riureas: "You're my student. Why didn't you reveal yourself earlier?"
Makoto's smile was soft, but her words cut like steel.
Makoto: "Because a student must prove her story can stand… even against her teacher's."
The hall fell silent. Solana's faint whisper brushed Riureas's mind:
Solana: "She's not only a Governor. She's an Author, like you."
– Makoto's POV –
"I was scared, Sensei-Masashi probably forgot my name, or even the things we went through together," I whispered, my cheeks burning red.
I quickly hid my face behind my hands, unable to bear the embarrassment of saying it aloud.
– Riureas's POV –
"Hey, Solana… can you help me find Makoto?" I asked, hoping she might sense where Makoto had gone.
Her voice drifted softly into my mind.
"She's in the third district, where a small sub-village lies…"
I frowned. "You don't sound certain, do you?"
Her tone carried hesitation, yet there was no malice in it. I knew Solana wasn't trying to deceive me. She was my friend, and even in uncertainty, I trusted her words.
Clara, Elra, Yullues, Crystella, and I wandered through the busy streets of Ciudad de Plumas, scanning every corner, every narrow passage in hopes of finding Makoto — or at least stumbling upon the small sub-village Solana had mentioned. The city was alive with music and chatter, yet beneath it, I felt her presence, faint but familiar.
– Makoto's POV –
Oh no… he's looking for me?!
My breath caught as I pressed myself against the cold wall of an alley, peering out just enough to catch a glimpse. There he was — Sensei — but not alone. Four girls walked at his side, their steps steady, their gazes sharp as if guarding him.
"Who… who are they?" I whispered to myself, clutching at my chest. "And why are they with Sensei…?"
A tight ache coiled in my heart — jealousy, sharp and unyielding. I bit my lip, retreating further into the shadows.
As he passed by the alley, close enough that I could hear the faint sound of his footsteps, I shrank back. For a moment, I almost reached out, almost called his name. But the sight of those four at his side chained my voice.
So I remained hidden. Watching. Waiting.
– Riureas's POV –
I spotted her. She thought she was hidden in the shadows, but I knew. I always knew. This was my world once — though lately, it feels as if my pen no longer guides it. Something has changed.
Then, from between a bakery and a tailor's shop, Makoto stepped into the light. Her expression was sharp, unreadable… until she suddenly closed the distance and wrapped her arms around me. Warm. Tight. Real.
I held her back without hesitation.
Riureas: "How long… have you been waiting?"
Makoto: "Seven years," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I heard the rumors… that the Author had been transferred into this world after that disaster."
Her words froze me. I hadn't known.
Riureas: "I missed you too… but… what disaster are you talking about?"
Makoto drew in a deep breath, her eyes clouded with memory.
Makoto: "You mean… you don't know? About the Great Calamity? Just two years before you arrived here, the land itself was scarred. The Kingdom of Dusk-Land… sunk into a vast pit. That's why the whole city lies lower than the others — like it was swallowed by the earth. Even after you were brought here, it never returned. The kingdom still stands on that pit… even now."
Her revelation didn't shock me. Not exactly. Instead, unease curled inside me. Why was I here? Who brought me? For what reason?
Makoto: "And if you're wondering… no, I don't know why I was reincarnated here either."
I nodded slowly, my thoughts racing.
Riureas: "Then… maybe the Eternal Quills hold the truth."
Makoto's eyes gleamed with a mixture of fear and conviction.
Makoto: "Absolutely. They're the original creators of this world — or something close to it. I believe they brought us here, gave us the right to rewrite fragments of destiny… so this world could remain balanced."
Her theory struck deep.
Riureas: "That's… a strong theory. Too strong. Almost like it is the real answer."
For a moment, silence lingered between us — heavy, but strangely comforting.
.....
End of Volume 3-Arc 3: "The Disaster Arc"