[Four days later.]
[8 May 1568 W.R.]
The morning air in the capital city was crisp, despite chilly cold a few days ago.
Dew clung to the leaves outside Akamir's window.
Four days had passed since the dome, the fairies, and the Bride of the Forsaken Tree.
'And I still hate every second of it.'
Akamir groaned as he fixed his shirt.
He stood in front of the mirror, his shirt half-buttoned, crimson eyes narrowed at his own reflection.
The scars from the skull-vines had faded into faint marks.
Akamir traced it idly.
Nayomi floated behind him, arms folded and silent.
"You're stalling," she finally said, her tone flat.
Akamir raised a brow. "I'm dressing."
"You've been dressing for fifteen minutes."
He scoffed. "So what?"
"Even I don't take this much time."
"Of course you don't." He groaned, turning around. "Why would a ghost even need to get ready?"
"....."
Her lips twitched as he picked up his school bag.
He rubbed his temples. "I don't want to go."
