“Very well. Let us discuss the terms,” Serise continued assertively, raising her hand as if to signify the importance of this negotiation. “First: Rinoa must always be the top priority. If every hour I spend must serve as an anchor for her, then that hour cannot belong to anyone but her.”

  “I agree,” Fitran replied, nodding to emphasize Rinoa's significance in his thoughts. “And what is the next step?”

  “Second: No extraction of names,” Serise pressed on, her gaze sharp as it fixed on Fitran. “You will not map my ‘True Name,’ nor will you dissect it into a key, or pass it down to a child as a sigil that can be summoned by any organization.”

  “That is a very valid argument,” Fitran acknowledged, “what else must we discuss?”

  “Third: A child is born a free human being, not merely an asset for Leviathan,” Serise stated firmly, her eyes shining with conviction. “They have the right to choose to return home with me one day—or to choose not to return—free from the shadows of any lingering records.”

  “I agree with points one and two,” replied Fitran, tilting his head as if striving to digest the meaning behind each word spoken. “However, regarding point three, I wish to add a clause: Terranova's guardianship should not be equated with ownership. We can serve as legal protectors until a certain age; after that, the right to choose lies entirely with them. You may assign your representative to sit on the board of trustees.”

  “Four: No duplicating lines through the process of cloning. Just one child, not a replication project,” Serise elaborated further, underscoring the firmness of their fourth demand. “What are your thoughts on this?”

  “Agreed,” Fitran said, his voice resolute, as he planted a runic banner upon the contract draft. “One pregnancy that results in birth. No more than that, unless you request an addition later—I shall not initiate it.”

  “Five: Do not conduct experiments on fetuses that violate bodily limits,” hissed Fitran, his gaze piercing like a blade. “There must be no insertion of angelic fragments, and under no circumstances should you 'prevent' viruses by affixing foreign laws. You must confront SCV-7 with clean and honorable techniques.”

  Serise nodded seriously, absorbing every word that came from Fitran's lips. "We'll adhere to spore sterilization and nutrition modules, not vague foreign laws. This is the principle we will uphold resolutely." He took a short breath, striving to assert a sense of discipline in his voice. "And that is also my condition for anyone who signs this program—not just for you, Fitran."

  "Six: that is its name," Fitran continued, his gaze briefly fixed on the floor before he lifted his head with conviction. "I will name it. You may add another name from Terranova, but not from the council, let alone any sponsor."

  A faint smile flickered across Serise’s face, as if he found relief in this conversation. "Coincidentally, I’m not too fond of the council naming any child," he said, his voice flat, yet laced with a hint of humor threading through his words.

  Fitran nodded, his smile fading swiftly. "Lastly: do not turn its birth into a political tool against Rinoa." His voice was heavy, breaths steady despite the furrow in his brow betraying a profound tension. "If one day someone uses its birth to strip away its very breath, I will terminate this contract—by whatever means necessary."

  Serise observed her surroundings with a calm expression, though her thoughts raced rapidly. “Your words are dangerous,” she said softly, her voice tinged with concern, “but I understand the intent behind them.” Cautiously, she marked the protective clause in the contract. “My addition: mutual protection. If at any time our child—I won’t pretend he isn’t part of my life—becomes the target of factions seeking to ensnare you, I have the right to take him to a place known only to you and me.” She paused for a moment, contemplating the implications of her decision, “That would save him from a world that demands too much.”

  “Provided you inform me in advance,” Fitran replied, his voice calm yet indicating firmness. There was a caution revealed in his tone, as if he understood the importance of setting clear boundaries.

  “Provided I give you that information early.” Serise emphasized the line on the contract with unique aether ink, gazing at Fitran with profound seriousness. “There’s one more thing you might find impolite for me to request, but I must mention it.”

  “Go ahead,” Fitran said, shifting his position to get more comfortable, appearing ready to hear whatever she would reveal.

  “Time.” Serise let out a sigh, her shoulders slightly slumping, yet her gaze remained sharp. “SCV-7 lowers the viability success of samples after two hours of collection, even when placed in a void-shelled ampoule. Its best window is only within the first sixty minutes.”

  “So, you’re not asking for it now?” Fitran inquired, his tone slightly suspicious. “Rinoa needs you, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, but I need your promise,” Serise began, her piercing gaze fixed on Fitran’s face. “Once the second phase of Harmony Lattice stabilizes, I want my team to have access to perform a rapid collection procedure. Just ten minutes. No drama.”

  Her eyes shifted to the glass, scrutinizing the figure of Rinoa, still ensnared in the light and appearing more radiant than an hour ago. “If she’s stable in the healer’s hands, I’ll give you ten minutes,” Fitran replied, his voice firm, though a hint of skepticism lingered. “No more than that.”

  “That ten minutes will be enough,” Serise retorted, closing her eyes for a moment as if to savor the tension filling the room. “That’s already more than I could hope for. I vow not to take a single second that isn’t mine.”

  “How can you ensure this procedure won’t tarnish my name?” Fitran posed the question, his tone pressing, remaining alert as if confronting an unseen threat.

  “With two keys,” Serise replied, pointing to the softly glowing runic module on the table. “First, the Void-Shell Ampoule bound to your alias, not your True Name. That alias is something you created, and I had no part in it.”

  “And the second?” Fitran asked, his eyes still sharp on every detail, scrutinizing each component as though he sought to ensure there were no loopholes.

  “Second, the Mirror-Law Split—this is a crucial marker indicating that any future usage requires consent from both parties. Without it, the ampoule will transform into salt,” Serise explained, her tone steady. Behind her firmness, a confidence radiated from the way she spoke.

  “The alias can be guessed,” Fitran replied, skepticism clear in his voice. “There is great risk in that.”

  “Unless the alias is more than just a word, but—” Serise paused for a moment, then delicately placed two fingers on the panel. Instantly, a small grid with a non-linguistic pattern appeared, revealing something deeper. “—a silence pattern. We will record your ‘silence’ for three seconds, engraving it as an alias. It is not just any name; it is the absence of your voice. Only you can reproduce that stillness without flaw.”

  The atmosphere in the room was oddly tranquil; the notion stirred Fitran's thoughts. “My silence is not yours,” he asserted firmly, articulating each syllable as if defending an inalienable right.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “It is true. That is why it will protect you,” Serise replied, carefully storing away her panel. “I only ask that it seals the vial. I cannot open it myself, despite the longing for things unworthy.”

  “Then, what will become of this child's life after it is born?” Fitran asked, his voice softening, almost a whisper. “You are a warrior, a scholar, and also a politician. How can you be its mother?”

  Serise looked deeply into his eyes, her gaze reflecting the emotional turmoil within her. “By allowing everything I know to be washed away by its cries,” she answered, emphasizing her point clearly, indicating that her choice was rooted in sacrifice. “I will not raise it to be a ledger. It will call for me when it feels pain. And I will teach it how to traverse the corridor of life.”

  Serise smirked slightly. Her smile didn’t stem from pride; it arose in response to a question that challenged her humility. "By allowing all my knowledge to dissolve in the face of his tears. I will not raise him to become ledger. He will call out to me when he feels powerless, and I will teach him how to cross the passage without crashing into the wires that lie in wait." She paused for a moment, savoring the gravity of that moment before continuing, "And if one day he asks who his father is, I will not sell that story. Instead, I will give him a name that carries weight."

  Fitran regarded her, contemplating each word she spoke. "My name," he said firmly in a somber tone, "is not something to be bartered with."

  Serise nodded in understanding, "In my house, names are not regarded as currency."

  They both fell silent in an atmosphere heavy with weight. It wasn’t that they had run out of words, but rather that the question poised to emerge felt so powerful, ready to shatter the bond they had just begun to forge. The sound of machinery from the isolation room enveloped them, serving as a reminder that the world would not pause for answers regarding life or death—true to its nature, the world awaited, for humanity demanded it to keep turning.

  Finally, Fitran broke the lingering silence, "I will sign, with one condition—you must also sign one thing for me."

  “What is it?” Serise asked, gazing at him intently, her eyes betraying a palpable tension.

  “If at any point I ask you to stop—not out of anger, but because there is danger lurking—you must cease everything immediately. No arguments. No bureaucracy.”

  Serise listened intently, feeling the weight of that request. "I understand,” she replied firmly, “but we need to grasp what that danger truly is."

  “What would happen if we involved Rinoa in all of this?” Fitran responded, fire igniting in his eyes. “You know how precious she is to me.”

  Serise added, her tone serious, “And she means a great deal to me as well. We have no choice but to protect her; there is no room for games with her safety.”

  “Every sentence you speak carries a weight of meaning, Serise,” Fitran replied earnestly. “But if anything strays from our plan, you must guard your words.”

  Serise nodded firmly. “I agree. We must prepare to face this confrontation, and we will do it together.”

  “Agreed—on one condition,” Serise said, extending her rune stylus pen. “Remember, if one day I tell you to stop—not for political reasons, but because of the risks stemming from your sorrow—you must respect that. We need to save the child from the hands of parents who have lost their way.”

  Fitran regarded the stylus, feeling the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. “I understand. We cannot toy with lives in this manner.” He accepted the pen, two symbols forming—not merely names, but two fragments of a silent pattern affirming trust. “However, this decision must be the right one.”

  “Every decision carries its own risks,” Serise explained, her eyes reflecting a profound determination. “This contract is an agreement between us, not just a mere formality.” She observed the play of light and shadow dancing in the room. “The shining light offers hope, while the shadows serve as a reminder of the dangers that lurk ever near.”

  “We cannot ignore it,” Fitran added, his voice calm but resolute. “With every step we take, we are wagering on an uncertain future.”

  “The council members do not understand,” Serise continued softly, “they only see the numbers and the final results, without feeling what you are experiencing.”

  Fitran nodded in agreement. “They do not realize that this is not merely a transaction. It is not a dark secret, either. It is a pact for life.”

  “Exactly. We cannot act merely as instruments,” Serise emphasized, her expression serious. “This serves as a reminder to us. The world demands payment in a cruel manner, especially from those who are unprepared.”

  “One thing is certain,” Fitran said, returning the stylus to its place, “if that child is born in the future, I will not hand over my sword to them. Instead, I will offer them my hand.”

  “That is a decision of great significance,” Serise said with a respectful gaze. “Thank you, Fitran. You have given me something that cannot be bought with titles.”

  “You have provided something that the council will never grant—permission to remain human,” Fitran replied, feeling the weight of the shared concern, as if bearing a burden far greater than themselves.

  The two of them turned their gaze back to the mirror. Behind it, beams of light pulsed, shrinking and expanding in harmonious rhythm. The healer’s voice cheerfully noted something in the corner of the room. “Look, they continue to overlook this crucial detail,” Fitran said, illustrating how easily they were caught in the monotonous routines of their existence.

  “Like a technician handing a cup to a co-worker who forgot to drink,” Serise added with a small smile. “We’re all trapped in seemingly trivial matters in a world filled with machines and algorithms.” She shifted her gaze to the window, hopeful. “But we won’t be ensnared. Not today.”

  “The next phase will begin in ten minutes,” Serise said, her voice calm, though a tremor of tension could be felt beneath it. “After that—if everything is stable—I will send a message. This retrieval procedure won’t take more of your time than you’ve already given.”

  “Make sure no one tries to be a hero during that ten minutes,” Fitran interjected, his eyes fixed intently on Serise.

  “In this vessel,” Serise responded firmly, “true heroes know when to refrain from action.” She looked at Fitran seriously. “I promise not to touch even a second that isn’t mine.”

  Fitran nodded slowly, stretching his shoulders. “If that's the case, we must return time to those who need it most.”

  He stepped toward the door, reluctant to wait any longer. Finding that Serise did not stop him, he cleared his throat loudly, trying to dispel the tension in the air. As the sensor opened the panel, a gust of cold air from the corridor swept in, bringing back the sharp scent of antiseptic and coffee. Fitran glanced halfway back, not to test bravery, but to ensure that the fragile agreement between them truly existed and wasn't merely an illusion. “I want everything to go according to plan,” he asserted, emphasizing the hope that surged within him.

  “I shall give it a name,” Serise said, her voice steady. “If ever the world demands that it stands, let it do so with its own strength, not by our design.”

  “And if it falls,” Fitran replied, reflecting a profound conviction, “let it find two pairs of hands before plunging into the abyss of darkness.” His tone carried a clear weight, underscoring the importance of the pact they had forged.

  The door closed behind him, and within the observation room, Serise stood alone, contemplating the situation before her. "What should we do, Fitran?" she asked, her fingers gently brushing the surface of the glass, as if seeking to greet the light shining beyond. "This is not how we envisioned it."

  Fitran, who had returned to the anchor bench, replied firmly, "We still have to negotiate the SCV-7. Rinoa is counting heavily on the outcome." He sat with a rhythm that was all too familiar, observing the complex emotions etched on Serise's face.

  "I understand," Serise responded, her tone still resolute despite the creeping doubt at the end of her sentence. "But what if the numbers don’t favor us? What if she can’t hold on?"

  "We must trust in the data and in yourself," Fitran replied, gazing at her intently. "You know what needs to be done," he said with conviction, trying to bolster the spirit that was beginning to fade.

  Serise took a deep breath. "It's truly difficult when we have to navigate all this without a companion. I have always valued the presence of others in every hard decision, as if their prayers were a safety net that supported me."

  "That's why we're here together," Fitran said, a clear confidence in his eyes. "We are not alone, Serise. This is far greater than just the two of us."

  Within her heart, Serise allowed one hope to cross her mind: "May the world heal long enough for a birth that does not feel the need to seek permission from statistics." She struggled to convey that sense of hope to Fitran. "If only I could, I would change everything."

  Fitran nodded, grasping the depth of her emotions. “We cannot change the past, but we can still shape the future. We are aware of the risks.”

  “True,” Serise replied, “and we must not allow Rinoa's condition to influence every decision we make. We must take action.”

  “That’s the only choice we have,” Fitran emphasized, “Two people pledged to choose words that won’t spill blood tonight. We must make wise choices.”

  In the silence that enveloped them, Serise turned her gaze back to the glass, striving to sense a glimmer of hope even as everything felt bleak. “We will fight for them,” she murmured softly, yet with determination. “We will ensure that every decision we make yields a positive outcome.”

  Fitran offered a faint smile, “Tonight, we stand at the river's edge, holding back the roar of the city. Let us ensure our voices resonate clearly out there.”