[ This isn't a conversation she anticipated having, especially while the wound was still fresh. But there's something surprisingly cathartic about finally voicing these worries to someone who would listen. Alone on that solitary island, there was a time she wondered if that was all that was left for her—to die alone, never knowing whether her friends had survived the end of the world as they knew it. It almost was.

The rustling of paper pulls her thoughts back into the present, and as she watches him fold, Celes looks down at her own work as she mulls over his words.

Ah pragmatism; now that is something that she can appreciate, and silently does as she turns her own paper over. They may be tip-toeing around each other, but there's something strangely comforting in that. Being able to in some way relate, even if their circumstances may be different. ]

It is. But we can't change what has already happened. We can't let ourselves live in worst case scenarios.

[ Refolding a section of the lantern, she lets her thumb press over the crease. ]

All we can do is move forward and act with the information that we have.

[ They're out there. The bandana in her pocket is a testament to that. They're alive. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere she can't reach. ]