The Boy's Gentle Youth Has Faded, Otto Is Left with Only a Cold, Calculating Shell

Bullet-screen-like subtitles quietly emerged at the edge of the screen: war orphan Vera, adopted by Otto Apocalypse, once bore Otto's surname, served as captain of his personal guard, and completed seventy-three years of service. In the footage, gray-haired Vera moved her lips slightly, her eyes remaining closed, her voice so hoarse it was almost inaudible: "Bishop, are you there?"

The door to the hospital ward was pushed open gently. A blond figure walked in, that signature Schicksal bishop's ceremonial robe immaculate, gloves as white as snow. Otto walked to the head of the bed, bending down to look at her, his expression as flat as if he were inspecting a routine report: "I am here."

"Did you see..." Vera forced her eyes open, her cloudy pupils struggling to focus on Otto's face, "Am I... about to go?"

Otto did not answer. He reached out and tucked the blanket around her, his movements standard and precise, yet lacking that clumsiness and tenderness belonging only to intimate people. Vera suddenly smiled, a kind of hard-won understanding of the world contained within that smile: "You are still the same as always. I have been afraid of this expression of yours since I was a child—clearly standing right in front of me, yet feeling as though separated by a vast distance."

"Vera." Otto finally spoke, his voice very soft: "You are tired. Rest."

Vera closed her eyes, a trace of that smile still lingering at the corners of her mouth. Her breathing grew shallower and slower bit by bit, until it stopped entirely. That warm yellow bedside nightlight emitted a very faint hum, illuminating the elder's serene face and that yellowed group photo.

Otto stood in place, watching her silently. Three breaths later, he turned and retrieved a file awaiting approval from the shelf