His father's watery eyes kept shifting toward the darkened windows of the house. Beneath the warmth of the embrace, the man's muscles were incredibly tense, vibrating with a deep seated paranoia. His hand kept instinctively hovering somewhere in his cloak, and even as he smiled down at his son, a profound, heavy shadow of dread lingered deep within his pupils.
"Father?" Erwin asked softly, wiping his own tears, his voice dropping into a wary tone. "You said you had to protect everyone from what came after the battle. What did you mean? The Demon Lord is dead... isn't he?"
His father's smile froze for a fraction of a second. He gently placed his large hands on Erwin's shoulders, his expression tightening into something deeply guarded.
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. His father paused for a long, agonizing moment, his gaze dropping to the floor boards before he forced his eyes back up to meet his son's.
"Yes," his father finally said.
