The sound of slow footsteps echoed through one of the palace corridors, five young people walking slowly along it.
The sound of footsteps that had been the only sound now found a rival, the sound of crying suddenly being heard from one of the youths.
The youth had long black hair tied in a ponytail, tears dripping down and wetting his cheeks which were also stained with dried blood.
The shirt he wore was dirty here and there and slightly damp, and on the chest part of the shirt there was a hole as if it had been stabbed.
The youth's crying grew louder, not because of the injuries he suffered, but because he saw the hand of his friend whom he was helping to walk.
The youth was helping his friend walk by hooking his friend's arm around his neck, but his friend's right hand was wrapped in bandages where half of it had been cut off.
The youth's voice sounded broken.
"I'm sorry… aril… because of me… your hand…"
The youth could not finish his words because of his crying.
