21st Day of Spring, Year 13,495
A frozen mind wandered through the void.
"Benji… Help.
Doran… Please… Help."
Mira floated in a space where time had no tether.
No ground.
No sky.
Just the echo of voices lost to a storm, and feelings she could not control.
A sleep-like weight pressed against her—thick and suffocating.
A pain bloomed across her chest.
Not physical, but deeper.
Sharper.
Regret gnawed at her.
Sadness buried itself like splinters beneath her skin.
The onslaught of sensation never slowed.
They streamed through her mind in unbearable waves—chaotic, relentless.
Darkness waited at the edges of her thoughts, curling inward like a hungry tide.
And she knew—
This is it.
The end.
No escape.
No salvation.
Just a single, cruel truth:
She was alone.
Alone.
Alone.
In the hollow of her own mind, Mira cried—but no tears came.
Her sobs were silent things, weightless and soundless in a world that had forgotten her.
But then—
A warmth.
Subtle.
Unreal.
A flicker of heat brushed across her cheek—light as breath.
For the first time since falling into the abyss, something shifted.
It stopped the spiral.
Stopped the thoughts.
Stopped the pain.
What… is this?
The warmth pulsed once more.
It spread gently across her chest, weaving through her like sunlight filtered through water.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
But it was real.
And it was… familiar.
She curled toward it instinctively.
Not with her body—her body wasn't here—
But with the feeling of herself, the part of her still able to reach.
That warmth was everything she had left.
Was it warm because it was familiar?
Or familiar because she had grown so cold?
The darkness recoiled.
The light grew.
It spilled in from nowhere—golden and soft—washing over her.
Like dawn.
Slow. Inevitable.
Quiet in its arrival, but impossible to ignore.
Mira opened her eyes.
She was no longer floating.
She was cradled.
The light surrounded her, but at the center of it… was her.
The woman.
The one with the long, obsidian-black hair.
Kneeling beside her.
Face serene.
Eyes deep with something ancient—
Kindness, yes.
But also sorrow.
The same sorrow Mira had carried, mirrored in someone impossibly distant—
And impossibly close.
A gentle hand brushed across Mira's face.
And the tears—
The ones Mira could not cry—
Finally came.
They spilled freely now, hot and unrelenting, as Mira collapsed into the woman's arms.
She didn't speak.
Didn't ask where she was.
Didn't care if this was death, or a dream, or something in between.
All that mattered was the warmth.
And the truth she could feel in the woman's touch:
You are not alone.
Not anymore.
The woman's arms tightened around her.
Delicate, but unyielding.
Protective.
Fierce.
Mira didn't understand why, but the embrace made something deep inside her ache.
It wasn't pain.
It was older than that.
Like a song she didn't remember knowing—
Familiar in a way that frightened her.
And then, the woman whispered:
"Oh my dear Adaline…How I've missed you so."
Mira blinked.
Her breath caught.
The name didn't belong to her.
She'd never heard it before—
Yet something in her chest shivered at the sound.
The woman squeezed her tighter, burying her face into Mira's shoulder like a mother welcoming back a long-lost child.
Her grip trembled—
Not from weakness,
But from emotion.
Mira's lips parted, the words struggling to form.
"I'm… I think you've mistaken me."
She slowly pulled back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with trembling fingers.
Her voice wavered, but she forced it steady.
"My name is Mira. Who… who is Adaline?"
For a breath, the woman froze.
Then her expression changed.
The warmth vanished like sunlight behind thunderclouds.
Her face—so soft, so full of aching love—hardened in an instant.
Her brow lowered. Her mouth curled into something sharp and cold.
Her eyes, still the same color, became entirely different.
"So…" she hissed.
"He is reshaping souls now?"
Her voice, though barely above a whisper, struck the air like a blade.
She stood slowly, towering above Mira, who remained kneeling in the golden light.
The tenderness was gone.
Only fury remained.
The kind born from betrayal that transcended time.
The woman's gaze bored down into her—
Not with hatred.
But something almost worse.
Disappointment.
"We shall fix this at once," she said.
A gust of unseen wind stirred her hair, strands lifting like silk caught in a storm.
"I am taking you home."
She grasped Mira's wrist—hard.
Mira winced, trying to pull back, but the grip only tightened.
"What do you mean, I live here!" she cried, panic lacing her voice.
The woman's eyes—those deep, unreadable eyes—narrowed.
A shaky breath. Controlled. Trembling.
"Gods do not associate with mortals."
The words struck like a cold slap.
Final. Absolute.
Mira's mouth opened, questions fighting to rise—
But the woman lifted her free hand, fingers glowing with quiet power.
"Terra Deorum."
The words rang through the void like a bell that didn't echo.
Light enveloped them both.
Mira felt herself lifted—weightless, torn from the world she knew.
Her cries caught in her throat as everything—pain, confusion, the ground—vanished.
They shimmered,
Blurring into radiance.
And then—
They were gone.
Only a faint rainbow shimmering in a small cloud of mist lingered in their wake.
Not far away…
Boots crunched against damp leaves.
"Alright, spread out and sweep the area!" barked Commander Elthis from the front. His voice was sharp. Practiced. Like a blade that had seen war and remembered every scar.
"Standard search. Anything breathing gets reported. Anything hostile gets put down."
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" followed behind him, almost instinctual.
Kellon nodded too, even though no one looked his way. They moved as one—a squadron of six. Each step measured. Each breath slow. They had trained together for years, and even so… something felt off tonight.
The forest was wrong.
Not just quiet—dead.
The trees stood scorched and skeletal, blackened by a fire that had no heat left to give. Their branches reached overhead like arms mid-scream. Ash clung to bark like decay. The air itself seemed thinner here, as if something had taken a deep breath and refused to exhale.
And the smell—
Ash, yes, but laced with something metallic. Not quite blood. Not quite rust. Something between.
Every leaf crunched too loud. Every bird's absence was its own alarm.
Then—
The trees parted.
And the world ahead shimmered.
Kellon froze mid-step.
A golden street unfurled before them—cobbled, glistening, impossibly perfect. Homes stood mid-collapse, as if frozen mid-movement. Roofs curled inward like ribbons of soft gold. Furniture. Tools. Doors—transformed, but not destroyed.
And the people—
Dear gods.
The people.
Statues at first glance.
But not crafted.
A baker shielding a tray of bread. A mother reaching for her child—caught mid-sprint, their fingers inches apart. A dog mid-bark. A musician paused at the crescendo of a song, flute raised to lips turned metallic.
Not statues.
Victims.
Kellon's mouth went dry. His chest ached like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
"By the stars…" someone whispered behind him.
Maybe it was Gair. Maybe it was Kellon himself.
The squad moved forward, like sleepwalkers stumbling through a shared nightmare.
Kellon's boots scraped against the goldstone path, and the sound of it echoed through the air like thunder in a mausoleum. Every step felt wrong. Like an intrusion.
He turned his head, peering into a narrow alleyway half-hidden behind a tilted house.
Footprints.
A trail of them, barely visible, smudged in ash and soot—but untouched by the golden conversion that swallowed everything else.
Fresh.
Someone had walked here.
Alive.
He knelt beside them, fingers brushing the edge of one print. Still soft. Still warm?
His heart began to pound.
"Hey, Gair," Kellon called out softly. "I think someone was just here."
Gair moved beside him, crouching carefully. His gloved hand traced one edge of the print. His brow furrowed beneath the rim of his helmet.
"You say that like the light didn't blast this place apart three nights ago," he murmured, glancing toward a nearby statue—her arms stretched upward, her mouth frozen in a scream that never finished.
"Wouldn't be surprised if someone came after," he continued. "Family. Survivors. Hell, maybe scavengers."
"Let's hope it's the former," Kellon said, scanning the ghost-village. "I don't like the way this place breathes."
He stood and raised his voice. "Commander! We've got fresh tracks!"
Another voice, from a squad deeper in the ruins: "Tracks here too! Leading east—back toward Ton Village!"
The sound of armor drew closer. Commander Elthis strode through the haze like a shadow given purpose. His cloak swept over the ash-strewn ground. His armor, burnished but battered, caught the faint shimmer of gold in its seams.
He stopped beside them. Said nothing at first. Just stared at the tracks.
Then, softly—too softly for a battlefield—
"Tell me," he said. "What's wrong with these tracks?"
Kellon blinked.
He followed them again. Forward. Backward. They trailed through the village like breadcrumbs—but something wasn't right.
"They start right here…" Gair muttered. "Right in front of this wall."
Kellon finished the thought, pointing to the far end of the prints.
"And they stop… over there."
A flicker of light caught his eye.
He turned his head.
A shimmer hovered in the air, low to the ground. Not bright—but strange. Rainbow-like.
Hazy.
Like mist catching a dawn it had no right to reflect.
The colors swirled together in slow motion. Pale, then deep. Then pale again.
It pulsed softly, like a heartbeat that didn't belong.
Elthis stepped closer, silent.
He paused just before it.
No wind.
No sound.
Kellon tensed. "Commander?" His voice carried the weight of caution.
Elthis didn't reply.
He raised his hand—slow. Deliberate.
His fingers brushed the edge of the shimmer.
And the world changed.
His body snapped upright—spine stiff as stone. His arms convulsed. His jaw unhinged.
A sound tore from his throat—a scream not shaped by lungs, but by something deeper. Raw. Final.
Then—
The growths.
Bulbs.
Swelling across his skin like boils pushed from beneath the flesh.
His armor groaned as the shapes grew and burst.
And from within—blooms.
Flowers.
Impossible.
Bleeding petals in hues too vivid to belong in death. Crimson. Indigo. Gold dusted in violet. White laced with arterial red.
They emerged from his mouth.
His eyes.
His chest.
And still, more came.
He collapsed.
But the flowers didn't stop.
They grew through his bones, curling along his ribs like vines.
His face vanished beneath their bloom.
And then—
Stillness.
The body twitched once more.
Then—
Silence.
A soldier screamed.
Another fell to his knees, retching.
Two more bolted, panic overpowering training.
The rest—frozen in place.
Gair whispered a curse, one Kellon didn't recognize.
But Kellon… Kellon couldn't move. He couldn't look away.
Commander Elthis was gone.
And in his place…
A garden.
Then—
A sound.
A laugh.
Soft. Cruel.
Feminine.
Familiar.
It echoed through the alleys like breath against the skin.
Not loud.
Not close.
But too real to be imagined.
As if someone had been watching the entire time. And had been waiting for this moment to laugh.
The shimmer pulsed one final time.
Then faded.
The colors vanished.
And with them, the laughter.
What remained was the garden of blood and petals.