The library felt different today—colder, darker, like the heavy weight of dread had settled over the grand halls. The air was thick with tension, so palpable you could almost see it swirling around the towering shelves of books. You stood at a distance, trying to process what had just happened. The Reverb Ensemble was gone, their twisted influence nothing more than a memory now, but the aftermath was anything but comforting.

Your eyes were drawn to Roland, still clad in his bloodstained suit, his sword, Durandal, gleaming ominously under the dim lighting. It wasn't the blood that unsettled you—he'd been through worse. No, it was the way he held the sword, its tip pointed directly at Angela. The calmness in his stance contrasted sharply with the storm of emotions in his eyes, a conflict raging within him that you couldn't even begin to understand.

Angela stands before him, her newly acquired human body trembling ever so slightly. Her expression is a mixture of disbelief and betrayal, her once cold, calculating demeanor shattered. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as Roland takes a step closer to her.

The library, a place that once felt like a sanctuary, now feels like a cage. The towering shelves filled with countless books seem to close in around you, their shadows stretching long and dark across the floor. The familiar scent of old paper and ink is tainted by the metallic tang of blood, reminding you of the violence that had just occurred.

Roland’s voice cuts through the silence, low and filled with a bitterness you’ve never heard before. “This is all the result of attempting to wash blood with blood,” he says, his words laced with sorrow. You can see the pain in his eyes, the tears that he’s desperately trying to hold back. But there’s something else there too—something cold and unforgiving.