Margaret was silent for a moment, her gaze drifting toward the depths of the garden as if she could pierce through time and space to see that magnificent yet oppressive Holy City.
"Yes, it is time. 'The Driver' and 'The Machine' have been separated for far too long. Without sufficient 'parts' and 'power,' even the most intricate blueprint is just a drawing. What lies beneath the Holy City is both the key and the cornerstone."
Othilia drained the last of the chilled tea in her cup. As she set it down, it made a crisp clink.
She asked abruptly, "Once the plan is truly set in motion, the number of variables will grow exponentially. Can you bear to part with Eleanor? She's still so young to be swept into a torrent like this."
Margaret drew her gaze back from the distance and fixed it on Othilia's face.
A complex emotion flashed through her dark eyes—eyes similar to Othilia's, yet deeper and more inscrutable.
