Jester's steps halted. He turned his gaze toward the figure standing tall atop the hill, and his breath caught.
"No way! Why are you—"
Jester fell silent, shaking his head slowly, his expression softening. "Ahh… not that person, huh?" he murmured, voice lowering. "I didn't expect him to be here. But... but... I also didn't expect his brother to be here instead."
Dr. Albert stood motionless, offering no reply. His eyes, once ablaze with vengeance and fury, now dulled in quiet reflection. His gaze pierced the battlefield, through the fog, through time itself. In that silence, he saw once more—the man he had once called brother. A man of unyielding resolve, whose hands always clung to principle, but whose choices had left invisible wounds inside Albert's chest to this very day.
Jester lowered his gaze and carefully picked up Harliqueen's weakened body. "I know you. And I know your brother. I also know your past. I have no quarrel with you," he said flatly, though his words struck like nails driven deep. He walked forward, stepping over rubble and fallen bodies, until he came upon a young soldier who still managed to stand. Without much ado, he handed Harliqueen over.
"Take care of her. If you can't… don't bother staying alive," he said calmly.
Then he walked on, heading south, away from the battlefield he had engulfed in a spectacle of chaos.
Dr. Albert raised his voice. "Can you bring me to him?!"
Jester's steps didn't falter. He didn't turn.
"Why do you want to meet him? I knew your brother well. There's no way he—"
"What's wrong with trying?!" Albert cut him off, louder than he'd intended. His eyes dropped to the ground, but his tone rang like a hammer striking a gravestone.
Silence.
Jester finally stopped and turned, his gaze sharp but not cruel. A hint of pity flickered in his eyes. He studied Albert for a moment, then raised his hand and waved it gently—like bidding farewell to a memory best left behind.
"There's nothing left to reunite, Albert. You and he will meet someday, one way or another. I have no more business here. It's time... to witness my performance."
And then he left, his steps fading into the dust and light that vanished over the edge of the horizon.
And there, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Dr. Albert stood not as a hero, not as a savior, nor a watcher. He was just a brother—lost, wandering between expectation and memories that never healed. He fell to his knees, his body trembling, shoulders hunched.
Tears fell, one by one, dampening the darkened soil that bore witness to his collapse.
"What made you so disappointed in me, Brother…" he whispered hoarsely.
He sobbed, his body breaking down like melting wax.
"Was I never worthy of being your little brother...? Was I never worthy of being your family…?!"
The sky remained grey. But in the depths of that silence, the world seemed to grant space for the grief of a brother who had come to understand, too late, the meaning of their bond. Among soil, tears, and memory.
The wind whispered through the shattered remnants of the battlefield, carrying with it not just the scent of ash and blood, but something older—something almost sacred. It was as if the world itself had paused, honoring the grief of a soul who had carried too much, too long.
Albert remained on his knees, hands clenched into the dirt, as if he could bury his sorrow beneath it. But pain, he realized, does not stay buried. It grows roots. It spreads. And when it blooms, it does so with thorns.
"I just wanted… to make you proud," he choked out.
A soft crunch of boots over stone snapped him from the trance. Not Jester. Not a soldier. A medic, perhaps—a quiet figure who left a flask of water beside him and departed without a word. Even now, no one dared break the veil of his grief.
The world moved on around him. But Albert… he remained.
Until finally, something stirred deep within.
He stood—slowly, shakily—but he stood. His tears still lingered, but now there was something in his eyes: not vengeance, not duty, but something more personal. Something final.
"If I must walk through hell to find you again… then I will," he murmured to the wind, to the ghosts, to himself.
Then he turned westward, into the falling dusk.
Toward the truth.
Toward the one who had once called him "little brother."