"Halahar, you shouldn't continue your father's research."
"But Dad didn't do anything wrong! He only wanted to help the family, so we wouldn't have to worry about accidents caused by spellcasting anymore!"
"He was already in the wrong when he started coveting Source Essence itself."
"So the people who have accidents casting spells in the Wasteland deserve to die?"
"Accidents are unavoidable, child."
"If you leave the Wasteland and stay away from the Tide of Chaos, you won't have any accidents."
Maintaining the Obelisk Tower's stability was the responsibility of House Hal. If they let the Tide of Chaos spread until the entire world was in danger, they would eventually have nowhere left to go.
"So Father wasn't wrong, and neither am I for carrying on his research. I'll finish what he couldn't, and prove that he was right!"
Halahar didn't know how long she had been asleep.
She could actually sense everything while she slept—the fever in her body, the headache, the itching caused by her rash, even the changes in the world around her.
The hallucinations caused by Fever Madness had blurred the line between her dreams and reality.
Yet, for a long time, it had felt as though her soul were floating above her body, conscious but unable to respond to anything she felt.
Half-asleep, she had been woken twice.
Both times, the team had needed her.
She felt she must have completed the task the team had given her. Otherwise, she wouldn't be sleeping so peacefully here; she would have already been born again as an infant somewhere unknown.
In her hazy state, she felt a pair of broad hands rubbing the itchy spots on her body.
The hands felt smooth and cool, though their fingertips were rough with calluses.
Only someone who played the piano