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(Looks at Nowell)

Ollie, where's the lady who found you first? Is she still...

(Shakes head)

She wasn't down there?

(Shakes head)

Oh, you're always like this... Well, it's all good. I'm so glad you came back safely.

Thank you so much, Mr. Nowell—

The man waves at Nowell with something other than anxiety or panic on his face.

It is a smile of gratitude, with a sincerity that makes Nowell awkward. All he can do is nod and smile back.

You're... welcome...

But the man keeps walking until he is right in front of him, and reaches out a hand, as though words alone cannot express his gratitude. And so Nowell keeps the smile on his face and shakes the extended hand, almost unconsciously.

Only then does he finally realize that pain is spreading, from his back to his chest to the rest of his body. He has difficulty breathing and bends down, grabbing his own collar.

The wounds he received from the rubble have still not started to heal.

—Sir? Are you okay?!

My goodness, your back! I didn't realize you were so badly injured—we have to find a doctor!

Oh, how silly of me, you're a doctor yourself...

I'm... injured?

Th-The wound on your back! It's still bleeding! It's so big... and there's more than one!

Are they not healing yet?

N-No. That's normal for us, but I suppose it must be strange to you.

What happened down there? How did you get hurt?

That leader of the Self-Salvation Corps is down there too, isn't she?

She protected Ollie. I have to do something for her... At least bring her body back.

Clovisia.

Her name was Clovisia? That does ring a bell now that you mention it. I didn't even get a good look at her before it all happened.

I heard she was a great woman.

I'm the leader of the Londinium Self-Salvation Corps. You can call me Clovisia.

'I am all that, and none of that.'

We cannot promise a reward either.

'I am merely here now to promise reparation to you, poor soul.'

I'm afraid we don't have time to discuss this...

'Tell me. What will make you feel better?'

A great woman?

Hah...

I don't...

I don't know.

Clovisia... he had passed right by the one he spent his entire life looking for, without even realizing it.

But it is no longer important. With great effort, Nowell looks up, fighting against the pain and difficulty of breathing.

In his blurry vision, he sees a child clutching his mother's hand tightly. The boy is the very picture of health, his hair and skin a warm color, with a smile on his face, just like...

I-I'll take you to the Self-Salvation Corps! Or the Exemplars! They must have medics!

No...

What? Why?

Just like the sun.

M-Mr. Nowell! Are you okay?

Hang in there!

Nowell falls to his knees, no longer able to support his own weight. It is as though the fatigue of a hundred years of wandering has come upon him in an instant.

Before his hands and feet grow cold from blood loss, he curls his body down, ignoring the searing pain as the wounds on his back stretch, until his head touches the ground.

It is a posture of worship and reverence, but he is not praying to anyone.

He lifts his head after a little while.

The leader of the Self-Salvation Corps was not in the ruins.

The pain lingers, as does the urge to cry his heart out. But all is silent, and only the beating of the heart resonates in his chest.

The thing that would make him happy, the thing that can kill him... it is already here.

What was that?

Clovisia wasn't there.

What about your injuries—

Right now, rather than spending my time on futile efforts...

I should spend it on saving more people.