Vera’s body had completely collapsed. The once nimble hands could now only tremble slightly; the legs that once crossed battlefields on their own could no longer even stand. Her bones had degraded, muscles wasted away, and even breathing felt like a task requiring effort. And yet, her gaze remained clear, her mind unwavering—like a lamp stubbornly refusing to go out in the wind.

  Her memories had never been so vivid, as though all the time she had lived was flowing back to her now: the trash-strewn alley, the twilight when she first met Nox and Luma, the days of pain and laughter on the training ground, and the moments when she loved with all her heart. She remembered it all and affirmed again and again—this was the path she had chosen.

  Not fate, not experiments, not their pity—it was her own decision, every step of the way.

  Now, she lay quietly on the bed that had accompanied her all her life. The familiar wood grain, the breeze from the window, the distant rustling of turning pages—everything was silently bidding farewell.

  She knew her time was truly running out.

  The room was silent. Nox stood at a distance, like a statue, so still he seemed to vanish into the background. His back was straight as ever, but his hands were clenched, knuckles pressing into his palms, fingertips trembling.

  Vera no longer had the strength to speak loudly. She simply called out softly.

  “Nox—”

  He immediately came over, crouched beside her, but could not speak a word. He lowered his head, lips tightly pressed together, face pale, as if every word weighed so heavily in his heart that it couldn’t be voiced. She saw his lips, reddened from the strain, ready to crack at any moment.

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  At that moment, Luma, who had been kneeling at the bedside holding Vera’s hand, finally couldn’t hold back anymore.

  “Vera… let me extend your life,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as if a long-buried desperation had finally broken through. “That way, you can stay with us a bit longer… even just a little longer…”

  Vera didn’t answer right away. Instead, slowly—using almost all the strength she had left—she shook her head.

  Her response came “word by word,” as though each syllable was carved into her heart:

  “Food… care… this place… you’ve given me so much… it’s more than enough.”

  Luma’s voice cracked, revealing a rarely seen, unguarded vulnerability: “But… but I can make you live forever!”

  She turned to Nox, eyes filled with desperation and pleading.

  “Nox! Say something! Convince her!!”

  But Nox still said nothing. He just slowly closed his eyes, as though sealing the entire world inside himself, unwilling to let even a single emotion leak out.

  Vera, with great effort, tightened her grip on Luma’s hand. The strength was feather-light—but unshakably firm.

  “Luma… I’m just… human.” Her voice slowed further. “Thank you… I’m not afraid… not of eternity… nor of death… but please… allow me… to refuse… your gift.”

  She turned her head slightly, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

  “Luma… what I’m afraid of… is if I stay… my love… for you… will change…”

  Luma was speechless, eyes wide, staring at her. The emotion in her gaze was so sharp, it felt like it would tear her apart, yet no sound escaped.

  Vera raised her hand, lightly, like a feather floating on the wind, and touched Luma’s hair. Her fingers could no longer smooth anything, only trembled gently there.

  “Luma… no… my dear mother… please remember me… this is my truest love…”

  It was spoken in their private language—a soft, untranslatable farewell. And in that moment, Luma suddenly wished she couldn’t understand its meaning.

  Vera’s gaze slowly moved to Nox.

  Her eyes remained gentle—but she no longer had the strength to open them again.

  Her lips moved, as though she still wanted to say something. No sound came out.

  But Nox, in the silence, understood the words she didn’t say.

  “Dad… I love you.”