It was none other than Noe VII.
His face was gaunt, the deep wrinkles etched as if by a knife, and his eyes were a transparent gray. He calmly gazed at the two young women before him, both possessing unparalleled beauty but starkly different temperaments.
He wore none of the regalia symbolizing the Pope's authority, his attire as plain as an ascetic's. Yet, an invisible aura of majesty, accumulated over years of faith and duty, emanated from him like the weight of a mountain.
"No wonder," Othilia spoke first, the hem of her pure white dress fluttering gently in the turbulent mists. Her jet-black eyes held unconcealed mockery. "You're trapped here, yet you're in no hurry to break free. Instead, you have the leisure to chase us from time to time, interfering with our strolls through this sea of clouds. So it's not just about your duty to guard this dangerous heritage… it's also because the traitorous Balance Keeper needs to maintain this fragile equilibrium."
