Norla did not go to sleep.
—or rather, after what had happened in this Singularity, there was no way he could sleep.
There were only two kinds of children: those who took nothing to heart, and those who took everything to heart.
Norla belonged to the latter.
He had long learned how to read people's expressions, hide behind others, observe every situation, and find a way to survive—
The original Norla had struggled in the factory for nearly two years by relying on precisely those methods.
Though frail, he had still managed to survive. Though exhausted, he had still barely managed to keep going.
To live—
Norla had struggled for so long for no more than those three words.
Humanity's most fundamental desire, its most primitive and urgent pursuit.
"No one..."
"At the very least, no one should..."
Hugging his head, he sat alone beneath Scandinavia's aurora.
"If someone knew when they would die, knew exactly when death would come for them, no one could remain unmoved."
"Much less wear such relieved smiles."
"What in the world is wrong with this Lostbelt?"
He released his thin arms and looked up at the sky, his face streaked with tears.
—Were the humans of this Lostbelt really still human?
The feeling of freedom, the right to live—
The humans of this Lostbelt did not pursue them at all.
He looked at the back of his hand.
"Urgh—"
A suppressed groan escaped his lips.
The back of his hand had already taken on a texture like stone.
To live.
Smack!
He forcefully covered the abnormality on his left hand with his right.
Even now that he had become a Servant, he still wanted to live.
He wanted Gerda—
He wanted the people of this Lostbelt to know that they could live without being