High above the Pantheon.
The End Witch slightly tilted her head upward, gazing at the dark time-space rift swirling in the sky.
In an instant, a familiar figure, surrounded by black sludge, suddenly plummeted out of the passageway.
Due to what seemed to be a temporary state of unconsciousness, he had lost control and was hurtling toward the ground in free fall.
The white-haired, red-eyed, aloof woman should have slowed his descent.
But for some reason, when she looked at the young face that still bore traces of pain, she acted on impulse, stepping forward lightly and opening her arms to catch the frail and slender body in her embrace.
With a faint impact, the End Witch felt a slight pressure on her chest, followed by the presence of warm breaths.
Perhaps the angle of his fall was wrong, for when the boy landed in her arms, his face ended up buried squarely in a certain deep crevice.
Too bad he was unconscious, unable to fully experience the scene unfolding before him.
