The longbow had shattered.
The mysterious First Generation Dark Moon, the mastermind behind countless events, an ancient Higher Being spanning two worlds, the sole trace left behind in the nightmare, was collapsing with astonishing speed.
Whether he kept switching sides or not, and even if he could now be considered an ally to some extent, Lord Daimol was clearly still upset by the contamination that had invaded him.
And that contamination was both incredibly well-hidden and incredibly fragile, evidently unable to withstand the rot brought on by the rain of fire.
Yet just as a work of art with a severed arm could reach new heights, the figure, whose face was even partly missing, somehow became all the more moving in the purity and compassion it embodied.
So much so that Fu Qian, standing before it and taking the Witch's hand of his own accord, looked somewhat odd.
"So that's how it is."
The Witch, however, didn't seem to find it strange. She let the knight take her hand.
She turned toward the tiny doll floating in the void and let out a sigh.
At the sound of her voice, the image that had seemed so close moments ago suddenly grew blurry.
Its delicate lines and lonely colors all began to move. In that instant, they seemed both to flow like stars and ripple like water.
And in less than a breath, Fu Qian saw a familiar sight.
Two tiny dolls.
Just as the church and the Full Moon Garden had overlapped moments ago, two nearly identical images now overlapped there as well.
Even Fu Qian's keen eyes couldn't spot any obvious difference.
But it wasn't hard to guess what set them apart—
"You almost took the wrong path. Thank goodness you stayed clearheaded."
While freely praising the knight, the