It is now late at night, yet for Homeloss sailing at the edge of the world, the sky overhead remains constantly a hazy chaos of gray regardless of day or night— the sourceless Sky Light eternally and evenly scattered among the mists, as if it will never change.
The sailor sits on the stern deck in a daze, his gaunt face bearing a complex expression, having maintained this pose for a long time, like a statue.
Duncan stands beside him, looking down at the dried-up corpse, suddenly breaking the silence: "Are you still pondering over that pile of 'last words' of yours?"
"...Not really," the sailor adjusted his posture somewhat unnaturally, muttering, "It's mainly... suddenly unsure about what to do in the future."
Duncan raised his eyebrows slightly: "The future?"
