[ The butterflies, in their power to hurt them, meant danger. Now that they're gone and out of sight, they mean little but for the aftermath of their passing. Shouto watches his blood drip into the shallow water. Listens to the silence bordering on emptiness in the ruins they stand in. A stretch of memory of an ongoing war, centuries-old. ]
We were fortunate.
[ He corrects and regards Allen with a quiet expression that softens around the eyes when he sees him hesitate. ]
Let me wrap it.
[ He intercedes, taking his bloody hand in his, smearing red on his fingers and palm. He pays no heed to it, and opens the top of a metal canister strapped to his hero costume, and silently gets to work, cleaning the blood, while a soundless hymn echoes in his mind. ]
no subject
We were fortunate.
[ He corrects and regards Allen with a quiet expression that softens around the eyes when he sees him hesitate. ]
Let me wrap it.
[ He intercedes, taking his bloody hand in his, smearing red on his fingers and palm. He pays no heed to it, and opens the top of a metal canister strapped to his hero costume, and silently gets to work, cleaning the blood, while a soundless hymn echoes in his mind. ]
Tell me about the war. About your Innoncence.