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    Summary

    "When people spot trouble or got ambushed, they usually do their best to run away," Tartaglia remarked, continuing when the little prince remained busy. "The minority who are blessed with visions by Archons would fight, but I've never observed anyone systematically exploring the areas and repeatedly killing every single enemy they see."

    The rain came pouring. The water pelted their bodies and painted more grass with red blood. Tartaglia wondered if his being a hydro user amplified the intensity he's feeling from observing the way black fabric got tighter and more fitting on the lithe frame walking beside him, or if it was just Aether's effect on him.

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