Within the black fortress's massive yet ruined front courtyard, sentinels thronged the area. Raindrops caused ripples on the numerous puddles of the stoned ground. A mix of rainwater and a tinge of red streamed on the hollows and gaps of the bricked earth. Blood flowed from the pile of corpses in red robes
It was the ruthless breeze and the light rain that welcomed the dampened rosiness of Moulin's cheeks. He was standing underneath the drizzle of grey clouds. He didn't mind the coldness and the soaked fabric sticking to his skin. With closed eyes, his face was tilted upwards, appearing as if he was relishing the sensation of the light rain that fell upon his face. He didn't mind the coldness... but the cooling hand he had held several minutes ago seemed to imprint in his mind. The sensation pierced through his heart as he recalled the elf's last words.