Serise repositioned herself next to the mirror; her posture upright, palms resting in her lap, her gaze locked on the graph that trembled with patience. “The selected candidate is surely experiencing this immense pressure,” she said in a low but emphatic tone. “Honestly, we all need a solid wall around us, a shield that gives us the chance to endure.” A small sparkle in her stomach—spirals and cosmos intertwined—throbbed gently, like a distant ship flickering its light as a signal. “Tears are not for now,” she emphasized firmly, “because this task demands steady hands.”

  “From here,” she continued, gazing at Rinoa with unwavering confidence, “you are a part of us! Not just because your name is on the paper, but because we have placed our souls between you and this world full of obstacles.”

  Dr. Neris examined the panel carefully. “Reliquary stable. Anchor Echo is active. If it moves out of its range, I will be the first to speak up,” she said authoritatively. “We cannot allow this situation to cool down!”

  “Speak loudly,” urged Serise, a hint of enthusiasm igniting within her. “Cast aside your doubts and make sure they hear you!”

  Commander Quill appeared briefly in the doorway; standing there, not stepping further, as if paying respect to the tense atmosphere enveloping the room. “The convoy is ready,” his voice signaled clarity and conviction. “The perimeter, both far and near, has shifted. The target is to the north, with two potential points. We will not fire unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Wise orders,” replied Serise, looking at Quill with a deep, meaningful gaze. “We protect one another, no matter what happens.”

  “Danger must be approached with caution,” Quill added, his words heavy like a burden to bear.

  She gazed at the dark sky, as if silently pleading for everything to be alright.

  Quill vanished, and silence enveloped the room, emphasizing how serious the situation was.

  Serise briefly rested her temple against the glass, her whisper flowing softly, “You will find a new reason to rise again.”

  “Not tonight,” Serise repeated, her voice resonant, each word seemingly delivered with profound significance. She stared at the dark sky, silently wishing for everything to go well. Silence filled the room, as if desperately hoping that hope still lingered.

  Quill disappeared, and the silence once again wrapped around the room, feeling heavy and stifling, leaving traces of doubt in the hearts of everyone present.

  Serise leaned her temple against the glass, hope blazing in her beautiful eyes. “You will find a new reason to rise again,” she softly murmured to Rinoa, her face drawing closer as if wanting to share a precious secret. “We are not just experiments or parts of someone else's plan—it's about the little things: a warm cup of water in the morning, the scent of freshly baked bread, and the gentle voice of someone reminding us of our own names.”

  “Do you see the lines on that monitor?” Fitran asked, his gaze sharp, as if his target pierced through the visible boundaries of reality. “He’s not in a hurry. Steady—that’s how we should be.”

  At the dock beside the Leviathan, a small boat waited patiently—“Dark paint, silence the engine!” Captain Ilin shouted to Fitran with a firm nod. His gaze shifted between the two teams, his voice booming with authority, “Close perimeter on the boat, distant perimeter under drone surveillance. Follow the northern route! Provide two evacuation paths! The code remains the same!” His voice then softened, filled with a touch of concern, “Bring your people back, alright?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Fitran stood at the edge of the boat, his eyes drifting to the distant flashing lights of the large ship. “This isn’t just a farewell to metal,” he said gently, with deep meaning, “it’s about a promise etched upon it.” With a tender touch, he caressed the small lumen shard hanging from his neck and continued, “Serise has shown us the meaning of all this. The invisible thread that connects us…”

  “Come back with a breath,” he murmured, his voice trembling softly in the air, as if reluctant to shatter the hope lingering within Quill. “I have to reach that.”

  The boat tore through the surface of the water; the sound waves closed in like softly cradling petals. Fitran glanced up, sensing the stars seemingly reluctant to provide guidance. “Lately,” he murmured, “the sky seems indifferent to our fleeting affairs.”

  Nobuzan stopped at a bend, observing the back of the Leviathan through a vent opening. “If I dive into this game,” he thought in silence, surrendering himself to fate, “I will wait until the scholars complete their charter. The charter holds a loophole, and that loophole calls to me—I know that someone like me can never resist!”

  She walked away without leaving a trace, holding a smile that promised nothing. His smile seemed more like the shadow of a faint hope, bringing an air of mystery while still capturing attention.

  In the dim isolation room, Rinoa took a long breath, breaking the thick silence. “How could all this happen?” she murmured softly, her eyelids moving slowly until they opened just enough. She didn't see much—only the gentle mist from the air purifier and glimmers of light, as if refusing the arrogance of the spectacle surrounding her. Yet suddenly, she caught something undetected the night before: a harmless silence!

  “Serise,” he called softly, hope trembling within his heart, “I miss home… but all of this makes me feel so overwhelmed.”

  Serise leaned forward, carefully avoiding the barrier before her. “Welcome back to the edge, my friend,” she said, her tone warm despite its professionalism. “No need to jump; just walk like the wind. We’ll proceed together.”

  Rinoa tried to adorn her face with a smile—half a smile, enough to respond to Serise’s invitation. “Yes, I want that. At least when we walk, I won’t feel alone.” On her lips, a new sentence emerged, no longer trapped in the language of pain, a small patch of hope amid the dense darkness.

  Serise closed her eyes for a moment, as if feeling the same weight pressing down on her. “Alright,” she whispered to the ship, to the room surrounding them, and to the small pulse gently beating in her heart. “Our duties are not yet complete. But the morning has provided us with an opportunity!”

  “This gentle breeze caresses my skin,” Serise murmured, feeling the cool touch brushing against him on the observation deck. “What are you working on, Tovel?”

  Scribe Tovel, without glancing away from the large scroll he was working on, replied, “I’m almost finished. This is the final addendum. We will be ready before nightfall.” He closed the scroll with a blue seal, his hands moving swiftly and attentively.

  “We need to act quickly!” he urged as the roar of the boat moved away from the harbor. “There’s a lot of work waiting before everything gets missed.”

  In the dark corridors, the guards’ footsteps trembled with tension. One of them whispered, “We can't fall behind. What will happen if they come early?”

  “We are ready!” his partner shouted with a firm tone, though anxiety was clearly visible on his face. “This is not the time to hesitate!”

  In the isolation room, a woman stared outward with a burning spirit. “I won’t sink,” she whispered to herself, taking a deep breath. “One more breath, just one more breath.”

  The promise of this world still feels like a distant shadow of achievement. “But tonight,” she continued, as if casting hope into the cool evening breeze. “With Anchor Echo climbing toward the stars, Vigil Charter binding the promise to protect us, and Mirror-Law safeguarding my honesty, we will surely prevail!”

  The massive ship stored the hopes that flowed strongly in her mind: “Hope does not walk alone,” she said with burning enthusiasm, “and loss does not always break everything!”