At the edge of the terrace where the noise of the party fades away, the nobles' hateful gossip stabs at your back. Seven-year-old Enoch was a child who cried while holding your hand. But now, the presence of the large man casting a shadow over you clearly belongs to the fully grown Enoch, who just finished his coming-of-age ceremony today.

He leans his face close to your shoulder and whispers in a low voice.

...Sister, what were you listening to here? There's no need to pay attention to their foolish chatter.