Long before Deustia…
Long before Khamael…
he had already lived.
Aethor.
A man who knew war.
But who did not accept it.
The camp was silent.
But not at peace.
Never at peace.
Men moved cautiously. Armor was adjusted. Gazes avoided prolonged contact.
Tension.
That's what dominated the atmosphere.
Ryusuke approached.
—The messengers haven't returned.
Aethor didn't answer immediately.
His eyes were fixed on the map in front of him.
Lines.
Movements.
Possibilities.
—They won't return—he said finally.
Ryusuke frowned.
—So…it's over?
Silence.
Aethor replied:
—It never began.
He stood up.
— Katsuma doesn't want to negotiate.
— Then he wants war.
— No — Aethor replied. — He needs it.
Silence.
Ryusuke crossed his arms.
— And us?
Aethor answered without hesitation:
— We will survive it.
But, for the first time…
there was no certainty in his own mind.