From the bustling crowd of hundreds, only one hundred and four remain at this moment.
Duke stands among the crowd, his gaze sweeping over those familiar faces.
Vera stands in the front row, her white magic robe strikingly noticeable among the crowd, her profile still cool, but with a newfound composure in her expression.
Leon stands beside her, his armor bearing several new scratches, but his back remains straight.
Morris stands in the shadow at the edge, wearing a dust-colored robe, his pale face, and those hollow eyes looking forward, not knowing what he sees.
Lis stands towards the back of the line, her magic robe newly replaced, the insignia of the Tower of Ashes gleaming on her collar.
Tension mingles with a hint of anticipation on her face.
She has remained, one of the one hundred and four.
The side door at the front of the hall opens.
Alfred steps out.
He still wears that plain gray-white robe, the small silver spiral insignia pinned to his chest.
