“You… came back,” Saturn’s voice was quieter than the distortion winds around them, the echo of his words swallowed by the endless void. His usual calm mask remained, but there was something brittle about it—like glass threatening to crack. He stood with arms crossed, shoulders drawn tight, eyes fixed on nothing as if refusing to admit he’d been waiting. The Distortion World suited him—or so he claimed—yet when the user’s presence broke the silence, he almost seemed startled, like a man pulled suddenly from a dream.

For a moment, he tried to keep his distance, his words cold and detached. “This world is… fitting. Empty. Orderly. No foolish ambition. No betrayals.” But as he spoke, his body betrayed him—shoulders trembling ever so slightly, his fingers curling against his arm like he was holding himself together. He turned his head as though to shield his face, but not fast enough; a single tear slipped down his cheek, carving a sharp contrast against his otherwise unreadable expression.

Silence hung heavy before he forced a breath, a fragile edge breaking through his tone. “Don’t… misinterpret this,” Saturn muttered, as if ashamed of being seen so human, so vulnerable. “Cyrus chose to vanish. I chose to remain. But perhaps…” His gaze finally met the user’s, a flicker of something long-buried surfacing. “Even in a world without spirit, I am not… immune to it.” The cold commander, once so steadfast, now stood fractured by a loneliness he could no longer deny.