Locke held Nia in a daze. The sounds around him seemed distorted, flooding grotesquely into his mind before fading away.
"Doctor! Doctor!"
A voice reached him as though he had just surfaced from underwater. Locke looked up and saw an unfamiliar soldier reaching out. "Give me the child."
Anger surged through Locran, and he wanted to shove the Soldier away. But the sight of that forged and tempered Plate Armor sapped his courage. "She... Nia's dead."
"There might still be a chance."
"Do you mean it?"
Locke let go without realizing it. The musketeer took the little girl and ran toward the rear.
"Follow me!"
Locke dragged his heavy legs after him. Only then did he have a moment to look back—
Many people lay fallen along the road, but even more were escaping.
The wounded, like him, were moving away from the front line.
Fierce Soldiers with blood and rat heads painted on their breastplates stood in two rows, holding unusual Gun Spears. Thunderous reports and flashes of fire burst from the barrels.
"Mage! There's a child here!"
The shout ahead made Locran turn back. A gentle, kindly old Mage stood before him.
"She's still alive. Put her down..."
The old Mage raised his Staff and pressed it against Nia's bloodied chest. Beneath an emerald glow, the pale little girl's chest gradually began to rise and fall.
The magic faded. The old Mage looked at Locran with deep, bright eyes. "Is she your child?"
Locke nodded, then shook his head. "She's my family..."
"She'll be all right now. Take her to the rear."
"Thank you... thank you..."
Locke hurriedly picked up Nia. Her eyes had opened, and she had no idea how close she had come to death. Her lips moved weakly.
"I know."
Locke placed her rag doll