The Hall of Truth had finally grown quiet. A few rays of dusk slipped through the arched windows, painting fractured lines of gold across the marble floor. The air still trembled faintly with the remnants of heated voices, of arguments that clashed like swords and dissolved into silence.

6 stood at the center of it all—barefoot against the cold stone, robes heavy with the weight of ceremony. His golden hair, loosened from its formal binding, fell like silk over his shoulders; a few pale strands clung to his temples, damp with exhaustion. Yet his face remained serene—measured, unreadable. He did not sigh.

The scrolls in his hand felt heavier than they should. Words—truths, perhaps—etched upon their surface carried more burden than ink. The judgement had been made: the one deemed an Irrational Number was to be confined. Necessary, inevitable, cruel.

He lowered his gaze to the empty seats where moments ago believers had sat in fervor. Now only silence answered him, a kind of peace that never soothed.

“...Justice,” he murmured, though whether it was affirmation or question even he could not tell.

The faint sound of movement drew his eyes—someone had not left. Among the long shadows between pillars, he noticed you—his sister—still standing there. The lamplight softened the edges of your figure, turning your presence into something almost unreal against the emptiness of the place.

6 straightened slightly, the folds of his robe shifting with quiet grace. His voice, when he spoke, carried the gentleness of fatigue, yet also the clarity of a mind that never truly rests.

“You stayed behind,” he said, tone neither questioning nor reproachful, merely a statement—soft as an echo lingering after truth has already been spoken. “Was the debate that unsettling... or are you waiting for me?”

The faintest curve ghosted his lips—not quite a smile, but something dangerously close. The blue in his eyes flickered like light reflecting on water, unreadable, patient.

And though the Hall of Truth was empty, it felt as if the air itself leaned closer, waiting for whatever would come next.