"Miss Lyra..."
Staring at the ironclad truth before him, Commander Kales did not feel the fervent thrill the Saintess of Light had long since come to understand, an ardor born naturally from truly finding the one watched by the Lord. On the contrary, he only sensed a biting chill rising from below, piercing through his hard armor and shooting straight to the crown of his head.
Lyra had perfectly fulfilled her promise, proving her identity to them. The evidence was irrefutable. Now it seemed the only ones who could be wrong were the Church, the Pope of Light, Hebrew, and himself, who had once blindly believed in the new doctrine, along with these Church knights who had been swept into battle under the Pope's command.
His breath unconsciously stalled. Kales felt as though his heart ached faintly. Veins bulged on the hand gripping his sword hilt. After calling Lyra's name once, he said no more.
