Before leaving, Yalta once again felt an uneasiness in his heart.
He turned back to look at his sister, Peya, and the King of Lorindell.
Ahead, tall floor-to-ceiling arched windows stood in rows along the corridor. Soft sunlight filtered through the glass and fell across the floor, leaving a bright patch every few meters. Dust danced amid the strands of light, crisscrossing between light and shadow to form a deep, profound space. At the end of the corridor, it seemed to lead toward an unknown world.
Isidore met his gaze calmly, his gaunt face more solemn than ever.
"Go, Your Highness," he said.
"But I... don't know if I can do it..." Yalta was somewhat afraid, and that fear made him shrink back.
Isidore said to him, "The king of Saint Osore must make his own decisions."
"...But what if I'm wrong?" Yalta asked.
"When we do something, this is how it should go: think it through carefully and weigh it repeatedly beforehand, then make up your mind. Once you have decided, you must summon the courage to take responsibility for it," Isidore said. "No one can avoid making mistakes, but you must never make mistakes in a muddled state. Have you thought it through, Your Highness?"
"I have, Mr. Isidore. I believe Big Brother Brando's decision is correct. In this shared war, shouldn't everyone stand united with complete sincerity?"
"So you have made up your mind?"
Yalta nodded thoughtfully.
"Then if you are wrong, you will face condemnation. Are you afraid of condemnation?" Isidore asked.
"No, I'm not, Mr. Isidore," Yalta said. "Because I believe our starting point is correct. Even if we suffer a setback for a time, it won't be because the decision itself was wrong. I will find the root of the problem and correct it.