Amon and Rigerif walked one behind the other through the narrow, cramped passageway of the lower decks.
Amon led the way, his steps steady and his back straight, openly presenting the fine black scales covering his back to Rigerif.
Rigerif followed several steps behind him, her gaze complicated as it fell upon his folded black wings and broad shoulders.
She knew that Amon exposing his back to her so defenselessly was not out of trust.
The Amon from before had been dangerous, yet he had always remained wary of his fellow humans.
But now, the way he walked carried the natural ease and arrogance that came with obtaining "power and strength."
It was like how humans would not deliberately guard against whether the ants by their feet harbored ill intentions—not because they trusted the ants, but because they were certain the ants could not hurt them.
He had ascended into some greater existence, making even vigilance seem unnecessary.
A faint, self-mocking chill rose within her. Her life seemed always to have slipped from one cage into another unknown shadow.
For so long, she had been imprisoned aboard the YAMAL, bearing the title of "Saintess" while in truth being nothing more than a prisoner.
She had only just escaped that old pervert Vincent's control, yet what awaited her was not freedom, but having no choice but to follow behind this man named Amon.
The future was uncertain, but she had no other choice.
Her great-grandmother's pale, worried face flashed through her mind, along with the unshakable gravity in her eyes whenever she mentioned the Holy Palace Medical Association.
Though Rigerif did not know much about it either, she believed her great-grandmother would not harm her.
It was likely an organization as vast as the Secret Party, but more sinister and more