Chalier: …
Lune: …
Chalier: Tell me. Which weapon should I wield?
Lune: The sword.
Chalier: It is settled. Find me inside the building. I will be waiting.
Chalier: This was to be expected, and yet…
Lune: Why make me choose your weapon? Can you not choose for yourself?
Chalier: Each amongst my kind has chosen a weapon from amongst those three. Yet I feel no particular attraction to any of them. I feel only… Duty.
Lune: You wish to fight so badly?
Chalier: My kind knows only battle. We are born into a world of strife, yet I seem to be the only one who does not revel in it.
Lune: Was this a test?
Chalier: Yes. A test. In which I was the subject… When our battle began, something stirred within me. Something fleeting, I almost recognized it. Is that what my brethren feel? No… Maybe… I’ve pondered this again and again. How do the others fight so effortlessly? With such abandon? And why am I unable to do the same? Though I fight alongside them, I am an imposter. This has continued for long enough. I wish to end my life while I am still the one controlling it.
Lune: …
Chalier: Expeditioner. Kill me.
Lune: I… understand. Alright. I’ll do as you wish.
Chalier: I thank you, Expeditioner. Here. A token of my eternal gratitude. Thank you.