Wuthering Waves Resonator Stories
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265 resonator stories
| Name | Resonator | Story |
|---|---|---|
 The Magistrate's Bodyguard | Sanhua | Instead of her name, Sanhua is more commonly referred to as "the Magistrate's Bodyguard." Sanhua is always seen standing silently behind Jinhsi, maintaining an adequate distance. She stands tall and poised, hidden in the periphery of others' gazes, like a sharp blade ready to be unsheathed at any moment. Although the majority of voices opposing Jinhsi have already subsided, there are still a handful of individuals who would attempt to challenge her authority. Because Jinhsi still held the title of Jinzhou's Magistrate, the seemingly blunt and inflexible bodyguard by her side seemed the easier target for pressure. Or so they assumed. Regardless of how impossible the ill-intended demands sounded, Sanhua can always flawlessly execute them to the utmost perfection. With her impeccable time management, sharp intellect, cool under-pressure demeanor, and savvy negotiation skills... even the harshest critics were left stunned. As the Magistrate's bodyguard, Sanhua handles both unruly daytime guests, and those uninvited guests who lurk in the shadows. Being Jinzhou's Magistrate, Jinhsi is a prime target with a high price on her head. Unwelcome guests sought more than just a cup of tea, but they would soon learn their mistake: instead of hot tea, they were met with the razor-sharp blade of her bodyguard. The crimson-eyed bodyguard seemed to possess an uncanny ability to detect lies. Within seconds, she transformed into a fearsome Asura ready to strike. One quick slash revealed shivering limbs as severed trouser legs fell in the cold air. This alone was enough to scare off most of the unwanted guests. Naturally, once the blade returned to its sheath, all shadows and shady dealings would be erased. Jinhsi's radiance would remain untainted, free from contamination. But sometimes, even Sanhua meets surprises in life... "Hello. You must be Madam Magistrate's bodyguard?" So asked the strange resonator standing before her, who bears the same beautiful human-shaped frequency as Jinhsi. Her world was suddenly filled with new ripples. |
| Sudden Snowfall | Sanhua | Sanhua's story began with the snow. Her birthplace was destroyed by a Waveworn disaster, fueled by an unforgiving blizzard and the emergence of deadly Tacet Discords. Within moments, all forms of life were crushed by the anomalous blizzard, only to be reshaped into a colossal TD standing atop the snowy mountain-turned-Tacet Field. The sight was both awe-inspiring and horrendous, as the entrenched TD loomed over the devastated landscape, both divine and demonic in its presence. It resembled a giant statue of the Asura. The Midnight Rangers did everything in their power to finally defeat the colossal TD. Finally, it collapsed and disintegrated in piercing roars. While cleaning the battlefield, they were shocked to find a frozen infant amidst the wreckage, her body cold and tinted blue. The infant was still breathing faintly. No one could imagine how she could have survived such a cataclysm, nor did anyone have the time to ponder such thoughts. The Rangers wiped the bloodstains from their hands and carefully lifted her from the rubble. They shouted, "We found a baby! A survivor! She's alive!" Their excited cries echoed far beyond the frontlines, instilling courage in every soldier and spreading their love for life across the battlefield, a comforting balm for their worn-out spirits. People believed this to be "a miracle of divine favor". Several days later, the girl rescued from the depths of hell opened her captivating odd-colored eyes for the first time. Tacet Discords did not take her life, but instead corroded her right eye. The lingering frequencies miraculously reconfigured themselves into a new eye, allowing her, who was born blind, to directly see the frequencies of all things in the world. — Unbeknownst to everyone back then, it was also a "Curse of the Lament". The curse distorted everything in her eyes into grotesque, eerie, and cacophonous apparitions, disturbing her senses and shattering her perception of existence in the world. She saw no lies, but neither did she ever see light. She relived that snowy night endlessly, struggling to escape hell only to fall back into it again, until she became an Asura herself. In a way, she was never truly rescued from that battlefield. Her world was a painting of purgatory, and she was doomed to be haunted by the Tacet Discords for the rest of her life, unable to break free. |
| Lingering Coldness | Sanhua | Sanhua occasionally dreamt of the snow. Since a young age, Sanhua had been silent and reserved, and not particularly good at social interactions. A chilling aura always enveloped her, cutting her off from others. Passersby were wary of the inexplicable frostbite it caused. She was vigilant, dangerous, and unreadable. It might be hard for others to imagine that someone like Sanhua would have recurring nightmares about snow. In her dreams, she was always lost in endless darkness, searching for a field of snow, or a glimmer of light. But in the next instant, she would be lying on the snowy ground, surrounded by twisted monsters. They gnawed at her as she lay among hundreds of shattered corpses. As they gouged out her eyes, darkness descended and only their flickering shadows remained. And then she woke up with a start. As she grew older, her Forte became increasingly powerful. The restless demon lurked within her, urging her to follow TDs' instinctive hunger to consume frequencies: the power of snow became harder for her to contain, and even the frequencies between humans and TDs grew ever so challenging to distinguish. At times, Sanhua thought she had escaped the nightmare, only to realize she was still trapped within and had been transformed into a monster. Was it her lack of compassion or the harshness of the snow that caused this? Or maybe, she was simply a part of the snow all along. Confronting an inevitable fate entwined with demons, Sanhua embarked on a journey of self-imposed exile. Recently, Sanhua still dreamt of the snow. Sanhua never needed lights in her room; she could see perfectly in the darkness. So when she was jostled awake from another nightmare and noticed the presence of light, she immediately realized that it must be Jinhsi still working on her documents. "Forgive me, my lady..." Sanhua apologized for not fulfilling her duty. A young woman was writing vigorously at the lamp. Noticing movement, she raised her head, "I believe I asked you to rest up, Sanhua. I couldn't finish half by tomorrow morning without your help. You stayed up all night sorting them out." "My lady, you must rest. Please let me handle these." "Please, Sanhua. Would I really let you handle those boring papers alone? Not a chance." Jinhsi pondered for a moment, then offered a mischievous smile, "If you want to help, just stay and chat with me for a while. I'll be finishing up soon." "Of course. What would you like to talk about? Shall I recite the Heart Sutra for you?" "Oh, then tell me what you dreamt of? I believe I heard you mumbling in your sleep." "Perhaps I was reciting the Heart Sutra in my dream, then." "...Do we have to keep going back to that? Truth be told, working on these documents does begin to tire me..." "Hmm... I dreamt of you, my lady. You were standing in the snow... You looked beautiful." Sanhua responded with a warm smile. Her journey ahead was no longer alone. |
| Falling Petals | Sanhua | Sanhua had seen the snow before. Sanhua traversed various places during her exile. She journeyed to remote mountains and plains, gazing over a desolate, uncharted expanse from a cliff. She witnessed star-shaped fissures spread across the land — The Tacet Marks, from which TDs continuously were hatched. They corroded the land humanity relies on for survival, like how they once corroded her eyes. Sanhua tried to slay the monsters but found no solace. The never-ending chaos of noise tormented her, day and night. Her only motivation was survival, pushing her forward despite the constant assault on her senses. She was like a kite floating atop the wilderness, guided only by a thin thread that would seem to break at any moment. She let the snow pummel her, lost and directionless. Wherever she roamed, blizzards would ravage everything in their path. She became a calamity. As word of Sanhua's notoriety spread, people came after her. She didn't know who they were, or why they were trying to kill her. She somehow realized she must contain the devil within, but panic always prevailed and she would always fight before fleeing in distress. Until one day, she was cornered and trapped in the mountains. It was then that she finally "saw" the snow – a golden shower of radiant snowflakes, like petals falling from the sky. The sight was mesmerizing. She forgot her dilemma and pain, drawn by a deep, magical voice that calmed her mind. As the blizzard cleared, she found herself surrounded by golden snow. A man appeared and revealed himself to be the abbot. She soon realized it was all an illusion meant to enlighten her. "All conditioned phenomena are like a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow; like dew or a flash of lightning. Thus one should contemplate them in this way. What you perceive as suffering, yet you do not know that suffering leads to salvation... Only with one's karma, may one's cause and outcome arise." Sanhua barely understood the meaning of those words, yet she did not attempt to escape. The abbot accepted her... or rather, she was captured and taken into the temple, like a stray cat. No one could have predicted that she would be tamed not by force, but by the silent falling flowers and a piece of advice. In the temple, she was bestowed the dharma name "Sanhua". She practiced swordsmanship and recited the Heart Sutra daily with the other monks. Sanhua wondered: If karma helps hatching every cause into its fated outcome, then to what outcome will her own karma lead her? |
| Thawing Frost | Sanhua | Sanhua stood once again on the battlefield, where blood and fire intertwined, ready to fight for what was taken from her. Years ago, they took her eyes and her once-home, when she couldn't fight back. But now, she was on the battlefield as a warrior, with the snow as her curse, as her blade. Her eyes were starting to strain from the overwhelming TD frequencies, and her ears were filled with deafening screams. Through the blizzard, she saw a horrific sight that resembled her previous nightmare, one that she hadn't dreamed of in years. Hundreds of corpses piled together to form a massive Asura before her, but upon closer inspection, she recognized the faces of those she called companions... She was trapped in an illusion, watching helplessly as the demon within her consumed her with vicious force. Her abilities, once a source of power, now controlled and devoured her. The curse that gave her strength seemed futile against the overwhelming force of the Lament. "...In the end, nothing ever changed." Sanhua collapsed from exhaustion, overwhelmed by monsters and hallucinations. She muttered quietly to herself as she hit the ground. She lost count of how many injuries she had sustained, only feeling warmth slipping away from her. She was back in the nightmare of her childhood, lying once again on that snow field. Coldness consumed her body as she melted into the icy ground. As the world descended into a state of complete silence and darkness, a fleck of white entered her blurry vision. "...Snow..." Sanhua reached out, longing to touch that coldness, but her fingertips were greeted by warmth instead. ...No, it was not a snowflake. Sanhua struggled to blink as the clear sight of a young woman gradually emerged in her vision. It was a frequency she had never seen before. The young woman stood before Sanhua, shielding her from harm. Lightning seemed to flow at her fingertips. The chaotic blizzard that swirled around Sanhua was drawn towards her, and she guided those frequencies, gradually bringing them to stability. The seasons changed around them, distant thunder and winds signaling its arrival. Like a divine child responding to prayers, she eradicated all the Tacet Discords with her dazzling lightning. Following the melting of ice, the piercing cries in Sanhua's ears gradually subsided. She no longer heard the painful screams of the battlefield, but the sounds of blowing wind, chirping birds, and the rejuvenating earth. It was at that moment when she finally broke free from that snowy night, and the once-frozen time started flowing again in her life. That was when Sanhua finally understood what karma had in store for her. "Only with one's karma, may one's cause and outcome arise." Jinhsi has shown Sanhua the power of rebirth in destruction. Jinhsi... She may be the guiding light for all people during this devastating time. The future Jinhsi has demonstrated is precisely where her fate lies. The light she has been pursuing in the darkness all this time. Sanhua took up her blade again. This time, she has transformed her demons into the power for protection. |
 Principle of Simplicity | Baizhi | When mentioning Baizhi, her colleagues in the Academy would often remark that she seemed cold and difficult to approach. Despite working in the same department, she was rarely seen engaging in casual conversation or joining in on shared frustrations or moments of levity. Instead, they would find her calmly and methodically analyzing data, seemingly lost in her own world of processing logic. She exuded a cool and collected aura, making it difficult for others to connect with her on a personal level. Baizhi's presence brings a quiet stillness, isolating her from the bustling crowd. This reflects her lazer focus and self-discipline in her research. Baizhi's schedule is meticulously planned: Mondays and Wednesdays are reserved for monitoring the artificial Sonoro Sphere, Fridays are dedicated to analyzing Remnant frequency bands, and the rest of her time is spent on field research, observing Remnant biology, and integrating cases. She adjusts her plan as needed, moving forward with precision and purpose. Baizhi remains composed and self-sufficient, unfazed by unfinished work or challenging problems. She diligently studies until she grasps them with ease. This sense of calm makes it hard for others to approach her. With a cold expression and a distant tone, she unintentionally creates a feeling of distance. People can't help but imagine themselves being pushed away. "Your report for the previous week was not submitted before its designated deadline." "Ah... Yes... I, uh... The original Echo samples were contaminated. I had to..." "Uhh, I'm sorry! No, I'm deeply sorry for my negligence! I... I'll make up for..." Seeing Baizhi approaching closer and closer, the reporting researcher nervously clutched his clothes and subconsciously bowed his head even lower. But the next moment, a processed sample slice was handed to him. "I presume samples from a Fission Junrock would suffice?" "But, that's your work..." "You may complete your report before the stasis-evolution. Having anticipated this potential scenario, I have allocated adequate time to mitigate any deviation." "Please inform me ahead of time should any analogous scenarios occur in the future. You were... trembling intensively just now. May I suggest increasing the ambient temperature?" Her pair of emerald eyes finally revealed a pure and unconcealed sense of confusion. The researcher was stunned, then suddenly remembered the other half of the sentence about Baizhi that the other colleagues had added—She seems cold and difficult to approach, but that's just how she seems to be. |
| The Sphere and the Device | Baizhi | A small sphere began to roll, then fell down a curve, and the end of the lever tilted upwards, showcasing the transmission of force. 11-year-old Baizhi observed the sphere as it once again stopped at its predetermined spot. She concluded that no matter how complex it may appear, the sphere would always roll uncontrollably to its destined end according to the device's design. This brought to mind a theoretical hypothesis from a recent book: Throughout history, human civilizations have failed to break through the bottleneck of this apparatus and inevitably meet their downfall. No exception. If the results are always consistent, then isn't everything that has ever happened only a predictable repetition? Is there truly a meaning to it all? Baizhi was consumed by this question, and her parents shared her concern for a different reason. While her passion for knowledge was admirable, Baizhi's obsession with theoretical concepts had distanced her from reality. She spent hours poring over esoteric texts and conducting simulations instead of enjoying life or making friends. Some days later, Baizhi received an invitation to the Huaxu Academy's scientific expedition base. That afternoon, she saw a device larger and more intricate than any before—components symbolizing different variables, intricately connected like a complex organic system. Yet, despite its grandeur, the device was still incomplete and too uncertain to become her "sphere" in what she was planning to achieve. With pensive eyes, Baizhi examined each part and formed hypotheses on how it functioned. "How do you like it? Our team plans to finish building this someday." The group's leader, who triumphantly returned from one of many grueling scientific expeditions he led, smiled warmly at Baizhi. "Right there... If designed in such a way, the remaining energy will not be adequate to support the further distances, thus the information cannot be transmitted." "Aah. So you've spotted its problem already... The Director was right about you. You really are talented! What say you? Do you want to join us?" "Any rolling sphere will only end up in one way: to ultimately stop at a certain location. But I fail to see where your design will end up in." "I would say, it will be in a place... unknown now, but can be made known one day? I agree there must be an endpoint. As to where it should end up... Well, maybe you can join us to find the answer. Together." As he finished speaking, the half-opened door suddenly burst open, revealing the rest of the team who had been hiding behind it. They stumbled into the room, their faces a mix of embarrassment and eagerness for Baizhi's response to join their mission. At that moment, Baizhi thought she heard a faint crackling sound of a sphere being placed into its starting point. |
| A Close Encounter | Baizhi | In her fourth year on the scientific expedition, Baizhi encountered that piece of Remnant band for the first time. During that time, Baizhi's passion for research was at its peak. No longer isolated in her studies, she delved into every aspect of civilization with the rest of the scientific expedition team. As she ventured out into the frigid environment, she came to realize that true cold cannot be defined by a simple temperature reading of "-25°C." It was more accurately painted by endless blankets of white snow, the shivers that still crept through insulated gear, and the desperate knocking of frozen instruments. This theory was merely a skeleton, in need of real feelings and experiences for true understanding. Baizhi dutifully accompanied her team to other sites, not just ordinary ruins but surreal places filled with Remnant Energy—pure and complete information that remained elusive and intangible. Despite their advanced technology, they could not capture or analyze this powerful force. Baizhi's ninth Sonoro Sphere expedition revealed a breakthrough. The buildings within were neither distorted nor a reflection of reality; their material remained unknown. From above, light flowed through a hole in the dome, casting a soft pearl shimmer upon them. Baizhi and her team's arrival seemed to have triggered a mechanism. The geometrical buildings, originally suspended, began to change in their arrangement rapidly, forming unique images of symbols and numbers. Baizhi was unable to decipher the purpose of the Sonoro Sphere or determine if she was witnessing a glimpse of the past, present, or an unknown future. But there was no time for wonder as her research instincts kicked in, pushing her to record every detail. This could be a breakthrough for a new theory— The survey instruments displayed live fluctuation of frequencies. Baizhi cut off all distractions and focused on the displays. Her cumulated theories and feelings all came in handy for this exact moment. The shorter the distance, the lower the energy consumption. Two points form a straight line, which leads to the source. Just like constructing a device channel, Baizhi selected the two ends of the extension, connected them into a line, and picked up the sampling device towards the center of the gathering— The surging light responded to Baizhi's actions, condensing into a ball of pure white light. The Remnant band was thus captured and manifested, full but like an empty shell, pure and free of impurities. Little did Baizhi know back then, it would forever stay with her and shape her lifelong research. |
| Infinitely Close to Zero | Baizhi | To Baizhi, making a wish was a perplexing action. "Knowing that wishes are unlikely to come true, what is the point of making them? This action does not even have a clear object. Once you make a wish, will it be answered? Who will answer it?" Faced with Baizhi's sincere questions, her teammates were once again left speechless. Fortunately, after knowing her for a thousand days, they understood her seriousness and indirect tone as a means of seeking the truth and avoiding inconsistencies when judging or stating things. Though Baizhi never made a wish herself, she always stood beside her teammates, as they made wishes on candlelights, shooting stars, or anything else. Though confused, she still tried to understand them and be there for them, like what they did for her. "Please, I hope we can completely unravel the mysteries of Remnant Creatures!" "It can be done, but unlikely within our generation." "Ahh, it's true... yet disheartening nonetheless! No need to overthink it, making wishes and reality are two different things... Anyway, you'll understand when you have one!" In the dead silence of the icy field, that fateful day arrived. The world collapsed without warning, as it often does. Vivid figures were dismantled by Tacet Discords, and eyes that once spoke of the future grew cold. Baizhi felt her pulse weaken and her thoughts spiral out of control. Why was this happening? So much had been lost in the search for the Sonoro Sphere. This couldn't be how it ends... She couldn't imagine a future without them. "Please... I hope they can wake up again." She finally made a wish of her own, but she didn't know who could grant it. As the Sonoro Sphere collapsed, Tacet Discords swarmed towards her. A tumultuous mix of emotions churned inside her, unable to stop her burning desire for everyone to wake up and return to her. She longed for them to open their eyes like they used to... At that moment, a Tacet Mark appeared on her body, and a Remnant Creature resembling an Epiphyllum appeared before her as if responding to her wish. Nowadays, Baizhi still doesn't make wishes. Wishes are not facts. She focuses on the tangible and what she can control instead. As for the sole wish she has ever made, it was like a number infinitely close to zero, a longing buried deep inside her. It seems unattainable, yet it never fades away. |
| The Endpoint | Baizhi | Everything that happened under the glacier is already in the past. As the only survivor, Baizhi never mentions it on her own accord. Despite attempts by nosy individuals to uncover her secrets, nothing was revealed. There was no shady secret that could not be revealed. Everyone did their best. The public could not assign blame, and even the most diligent researchers understood the inherent risks in scientific expeditions. They push themselves to the limit, sacrificing their bodies to discover the truth, while also recognizing death as a possible outcome. Baizhi's silence is rather more of her not knowing how to convey her thoughts. Reflecting on the past is futile. Baizhi prioritized her time on crucial tasks, unique to her as the only survivor. Soon after joining the Academy, Baizhi was seen rushing between various labs in the Branch of Remnant Ecoacoustics, making countless innovations in the fields of Waveband Analysis, Applied Echo Studies, and simulated Sonoro Spheres. She proposed that Remnant creatures are energy bodies derived from "empty shells." They may be able to resonate with humans and be formed in a form beyond the band. By mastering the principle, humans may be able to develop artificial Sonoro Spheres and more Remnant creatures. These hypotheses shocked the academic community, but the Remnant creature that returned from a Sonoro Sphere with her perfectly proved her point. She dubbed the Remnant creature You'tan after the udumbara, a mystical flower sometimes associated with the Epiphyllum. This night-blooming flower, like the elusive Dharma and ultimate truth, vanishes quickly after a brief blossom. Despite years of searching, researchers have only found glimpses of what they seek—a concept no more tangible than the ephemeral Epiphyllum blossom. Perhaps the name was a tribute to her lost comrades, or a constant reminder to keep pushing forward in her quest. So many answers await, and Baizhi knows she must find them all. But she doesn't rush, for the destination lies ahead. She takes each step with patience as she journeys on before time runs out. And this is not a lonely journey, for Baizhi has found a partner along the way—someone who shares her path and purpose. On the outskirts of Huanglong, Baizhi met the "honored guest" for the first time. Though she did not know where they came from, the moment Baizhi witnessed them absorbing the "sound" of an Echo, that tiny crackling of a sphere rang in her ears again. Look, she thought. The "unknown now, but could be made known" endpoint... It is within human's reach indeed. |
 Auspicious "Lion Head" | Lingyang | The Liondance in Jinzhou boasts a broad audience base. Whether it's grand events like freshman initiations and opening ceremonies or intimate occasions like birthday celebrations for the elderly and 100-day festivities for babies, there are always moments that call for a celebration ritual, and that's why the Liondance Troupe consistently attracts a steady stream of clients. As the leading Liondancer, his role extends beyond the thrilling and somewhat risky performances on the Plum Blossom Poles. Creating individualized liondance routines is a crucial aspect of his job, guaranteeing impactful performances that leave a lasting impression on clients. Lingyang enjoys interacting with clients, diving deep into their needs to create a customized lion dance performance. But beyond his job, it's a personal passion. For him, each person's story is a treasure waiting to be unearthed, and he takes pleasure in unraveling them. His genuine curiosity often leads clients to open up and share their true thoughts. This can leave some wondering if they're in the right place – has the Liondance Troupe started offering psychological counseling? The Liondance Troupe navigates a world of tight schedules, last-minute changes, and unforeseen emergencies. Balancing conflicts and friction is a constant challenge, as one misstep could mean losing valuable clients. Thus, the key to their success lies in understanding and addressing each client's emotions. Lingyang has mastered this art of negotiation, making it just another conquest in her repertoire. Luckily, Lingyang finds another way to deal with difficult clients: by giving Lucky Greetings. Armed with a bright smile and sincere well-wishes, Lingyang can make even the most unreasonable clients concede a bit. Gradually, his Lucky Greetings Collection has become essential reading for his fellow Liondancers, turning "giving Lucky Greetings to everyone" into a signature feature of the troupe. "Giving lucky greetings upon meeting someone. You must be from the Liondance Troupe, right? Please come in!" However, Lingyang's lucky greetings aren't one-size-fits-all. They should be sincere and tailored to the receiver. While it may have become a routine for the Liondance Troupe, Lingyang still puts effort into giving genuine and personalized blessings. He firmly believes that these greetings bring good luck to those who receive them. If you come across a Liondancer showering you with lucky greetings, don't be skeptical. Just accept his pure and sincere blessings, for it's the best response to a kind and friendly soul. |
| A Twist of Fate | Lingyang | Speaking of how Lingyang came to join the Liondance Troupe, we have to go back to that "ordinary" day when a Liondance performance at the Jinzhou Theater had just concluded. As the staff were busy tidying up the stage props, a strange-looking youth dropped from the roof. To be more precise, it wasn't a mere "drop"; it was more like a "crash". As it turned out, this was a carefully orchestrated accident. Lingyang had planned to approach the Liondance Troupe in advance. However, what he hadn't accounted for was the fact that rooftops, especially after a bout of rain, proved to be much slipperier than tree branches. Back then, Lingyang, who hadn't fully mastered human language yet, didn't even possess a name. He was simply referred to as the "little guy" by the members of the Liondance Troupe for a long time. Despite Lingyang's best efforts, he could not communicate with the troupe's staff. So, he resorted to a clumsy liondance performance using a head found elsewhere. Whenever the troupe members reminisced about this moment, they chuckled and commented that it seemed more like Lingyang was showing off his claws and teeth rather than performing a traditional liondance. While his intentions were understood, his unusual appearance sparked heated discussions among the troupe. In the end, it was the oldest members, Mr. Wufang and Mr. Qixing, addressed as "Masters" even by the current leaders of the Liondance Troupe, who decided to take Lingyang in. Lingyang has tried many times to inquire about the reasons for taking him in, but all he gets are vague responses: "Haha, maybe it's because your ears and tail resemble those of the legendary auspicious lions." Occasionally, during the master's nap, Lingyang overhears some sleep talk, "'Big Lion'... I did it... My promise..." Under the guidance of this master, Lingyang has embarked on a formal journey of learning: delving into lion dancing, calligraphy, and learning how to interact with human beings. To help Lingyang control the brutal force within his body, he was taught a set of ancient steps from Huanglong, believed to regulate energy flow and serve as the foundation for lion dancing. With diligent practice, Lingyang officially earned the title of "Lion Head." In Jinzhou, the term "Lion Head" carries multiple meanings. For ordinary people, it can refer to the "liondance head" used in the performance, or the lead performer. While for the Liondancers, it refers to a shared dream — the aspiration to become the "head of lions" through diligent practice and perfected lion dancing skills. "I was born with this strength and honed my hunting skills in the wild. However, liondancing is more than just pure strength—posture, steps, rhythm, coordination with teammates... It's not something that can be learned overnight. My master emphasizes how lion dancing means a lot to the Jinzhou people, and I can't help but worry that I might not be meeting their expectations. To live up to the title 'Lion Head', I know I've got to put in more work." According to his masters, Lingyang isn't just talented. More importantly, he possesses an insatiable desire for progress. With each new move mastered and every practice session lasting until the sky was cloaked in stars, Lingyang stood atop the Plum Blossom Pole in the Central Plains. He gazed at his reflection in the water, as if contemplating or challenging his limits. Amidst falling petals, the young Lion Head danced passionately on the poles, creating a unique spectacle in the region. |
| A Helpful Lion | Lingyang | One cannot mention Central Plains without bringing up the Liondance Troupe's annual winter training. During the winter off-season, the Liondance Troupe gathers in Taoyuan Vale for intensive training at their grounds. This preparation is vital for their upcoming performance at the "New Year Parade," a highly significant event in Jinzhou that symbolizes bidding farewell to the old year and welcoming the new. Despite the off-season, the troupe is hard at work refining characters, honing skills, crafting props, and rehearsing new performances. Leisure is not an option during this crucial time. On the other hand, since they are leaving city for the wilderness, Lingyang gets the chance to embrace his nature. Even in the winter chill, Lingyang's inherent liveliness keeps him active, much like the fierce beasts inhabiting the nearby mountains. As snow blankets the world, these creatures eagerly hunt for their prey. Whenever Lingyang heard their growls and distant cries for help, he'd rush into the woods during breaks to deal with the threats. He employed a savage and brutal approach against attacking beasts, tearing them apart with lightning speed. The rescued were grateful, yet their demeanor showed fear. Lingyang couldn't help but wonder: "Are they still afraid of those beasts? Or... Are they worried I might end up tearing them apart too?" Confronted with people's fear again and again, Lingyang started realizing his differences from humans: his claws and teeth, wielded in the heat of combat, bore a striking resemblance to the very beasts he fought. Can people really accept this part of him? Perhaps... He needed to find a more acceptable way to help others, out of kindness at least? Soon, a rumor began circulating in Jinzhou: every winter, a strange creature with a lion head appears to those who cry out for help in the Central Plains. As people discovered that this mysterious being meant no harm, fear turned into fascination, and the creature became known as a guardian deity, watching over travelers during the cold months. Well, these are tales for another time. Anyway, Lingyang must now prioritize his master's mood. Lately, when he's supposed to be at rehearsal, Lingyang is often missing from the gym. The master's angry voice echoes through the valley, startling birds from their rest as he bellows for his wayward student: "Lingyang? Lingyang! Where has that brat gone off to now?!" |
| A Lone Journey | Lingyang | "What did the land at the outskirts of Huanglong look like?" Not even the oldest researchers could provide an answer to this question. Legends passed down by the storytellers speak of a land shrouded in lush forests, teeming with life and home to a sacred creature revered by all. But that was before the Lament descended upon the world, transforming this once vibrant land into a desolate field of frozen soil and eerie quiet. Lingyang's memories only recall this barren landscape, for as long as he can remember. Lingyang can't pinpoint when he first remembered things, but he knows nothing of what happened before that. He couldn't recall when he was born, where he had lived, or where he was going to. After fleeing the destruction of his homeland, he roamed the wilderness alone, struggling against loneliness, harsh weather, and emptiness. He felt like a wild beast, surviving on instinct with no direction in life. But everything changed when he stumbled upon a human military troop. In the forest during a hunt, Lingyang encountered these peculiar upright animals. He cautiously followed behind them, keenly observing their every move. Lingyang couldn't help but feel a mix of curiosity and amazement. Despite facing formidable enemies, they refused to surrender or flee. Even when injured, they shielded their comrades and shared vital supplies. Not even hunger could weaken their resolve to share vital supplies and help one another. Lingyang wondered why these upright-walking creatures consistently exhibited behaviors he couldn't comprehend. However, somehow their "strange" behaviors ignited a small flame within Lingyang's heart, thawing some of the fear and coldness that gripped him. Years passed, but Lingyang couldn't shake the vivid memories of those figures. He found himself following their scent and footprints until he arrived at an unfamiliar land - Jinzhou. Standing on a cliff, he gazed at the strange creatures' lively habitat in the distance. Thunderous gongs and drums startled him, until he realized they were gathering at the city gate. Lingyang was filled with joy as he watched a vibrant and familiar dance unfold before him. The strange lionheaded dancer stirred something deep within him, a feeling rooted in his bloodline that he had been searching for all along. After deciding to join these peculiar creatures, Lingyang would invest immense effort and endure pain in pursuit of his long-sought purpose, but his resolve always remained unshaken. |
| The Naming Day | Lingyang | Since joining the Liondance Troupe, Lingyang has always treated others with great enthusiasm, aspiring to become a flame, dispelling fear for those around him. However, fate took a surprising turn when Lingyang discovered that his Forte is related to the bone-chilling ice. "But no one loves coldness," he pondered, "Despite surviving the cold countless times, I still fear it. How am I supposed to help others overcome their fear with this ability?" Frustration led Lingyang back to the training grounds, where he threw himself into the rhythmic dance on the Plum Blossom Poles, as if seeking an outlet for his inner turmoil. It was there that his master approached, sensing Lingyang's struggle, and encouraged him to open up about his feelings. "Haha, I see. By the way, little guy, you don't have a name yet, do you?" the master asked. "A name? Is it important to have one?" Lingyang responded. "For us humans, yes. A name carries the weight of expectations and good wishes from parents. But whether you fulfill those expectations or defy them is entirely up to you," the master explained and continued, "Since you can't recall your past and we can't find your parents, how about choosing your own name? Little guy, what kind of person do you want to be in the future?" "Person?" Lingyang questioned, prompting the master to rephrase, "What do you most want to do right now?" "Oh! I want to stand on the highest Plum Blossom Pole in the world! The one that's higher than the sun!" "Haha, that's a big dream! But those who stand too close to the sun may get burned and melt, you know?" "Hmm... that could be a headache, but I'm not afraid! I want to bring joy and peace to everyone. And! I also want to become someone who can bring warmth and courage to people! If the sun melts me, I'll become much hotter than the sun and melt it first!" "Hahaha, ambitious, huh? Alright then. How about 'Lingyang'? It reflects your ambition to surpass the sun—the 'Yang'." "Now that you have a name, it means you're an independent individual from now on. You can think of this day as your birthday." "Birthday? What's that?" "Well, a birthday is a day humans use to reflect on the passage of time and the fleeting nature of life. More importantly, it's a day to celebrate our birth, being grateful for all the wonders we've encountered along our journey of growth." "Then..." "Happy birthday! Lingyang!" Lingyang's seniors suddenly appeared by his side, shouting "Lingyang" in unison. "Ling... yang..." Lingyang silently repeated this most precious gift of this life in his heart. He muttered it softly as if contemplating its profound meaning. With his heart racing, Lingyang made a silent vow to live up to the expectations contained within his name and to protect his loved ones. Someday, his presence would thaw the icy hearts and bring warmth to people's lives, like the sun emerging from behind dark clouds. |
 Prized Possessions | Zhezhi | The girl proudly presented her painting to her mother, eager to share her achievement. The woman, absorbed in selecting jewelry to wear, stole a fleeting glance at the artwork. "Impressive, Zhezhi," she murmured with a brief smile. Delighted by the praise, the girl inched closer. "The people in this one are—" Her words faltered as her mother turned, absorbed in wardrobe choices, oblivious to her daughter's attempt at connection. "Well done. Now, why don't you paint a few more before the guests arrive?" Zhezhi blinked, at a loss for words. Her mother grew impatient, sighing as she marched Zhezhi to the door. "Buy whatever supplies you need, dear. The price doesn't matter, we can afford it. Now, I need to dress. Be a good girl. Off you go." As the door closed, Zhezhi stared at it, wanting to say more but unable to find the courage to voice the sinking feeling in her chest. Later that evening, Zhezhi, dressed to impress, nervously clutched her skirt in the corner seat, silent amidst the bustling room of guests. The woman noted Zhezhi's unease, the sight of it triggering memories of their family's past struggles and humble beginnings. She strode forward, taking Zhezhi's hand and leading her into the center of attention. "Didn't you know? Zhezhi was gifted from the day she was born. Her paintings were chosen for exhibitions even before we hired a tutor." With a painted smile, she mimicked the grace of the upper class. "Would you care for a painting too? Zhezhi can finish one in a day." Zhezhi shrank inwardly, wishing to disappear, only to be thrust forward. "Show everyone your skills, Zhezhi." All eyes turned to her, leaving Zhezhi trembling, unable to paint a single stroke. Later, as the mansion fell silent, Zhezhi gathered her courage again. Holding the day's painting, she approached her parents' bedroom door. Just before knocking, she overheard their conversation inside. "Did you know? That painting sold for 400,000 Credits today. With this money, we can fulfill the paused order." "Right. Are the paintings for the guests ready for this weekend?" "Not yet. Zhezhi mentioned wanting to go to the theater. That girl, always seeking diversions, never thinking about what's best for this family..." Zhezhi looked down at the happy family in the painting, her grip tightening until it crumpled, distorting her mother and father's faces. "...I'm sorry." |
| The True Meaning of Art | Zhezhi | Zhezhi realized something was amiss in her painting only after heading out for a sketch. As she took in the idyllic countryside, a new idea struck her like a ray of sunlight. Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she stretched her arms, and for a moment, let go of her parents' demands. As her bare feet met the grass, its prickly, cool softness awakened a sense of nature's healing vitality. She broke into an impulsive run, shedding worries about upholding the refined image her family demanded. A distant voice abruptly interrupted her frolic. "Hey, who are you? What are you doing in our field?" Startled, Zhezhi immediately looked down at her feet in embarrassment. Realizing she was trespassing on private property, she apologized as she tried to leave. "I'm so sorry! I came here to paint. I didn't know this was someone's field..." The girl laughed, seeing the panic on Zhezhi's face. "Don't worry! These veggies are tough. You don't need to run!" She laughed as she continued gathering the vegetables with her sickle. "A painter, huh? That's different..." Zhezhi hesitated for a moment, seeing the girl hard at work. "Let me help you with that..." The girl met Zhezhi's eyes with a twinkle. "Sure! Thanks for offerin'! Here, use this sickle, I'll go grab another one!" Zhezhi stared in confusion at the sickle promptly shoved into her hands. But she soon squatted down among the tall vegetables, mimicking the farm girl's movements. "Wait, wait. You won't get anywhere doin' it like that. Here, lemme show ya!" Under the hot sun, the two girls worked together to harvest the field until they reached its end. Exhausted, they lay under a tree to rest. Zhezhi forgot about the mud on her shoes and the dirt on her expensive dress, lost in the joy of spending time with her new friend. The carefree laughter between them filled her heart with ease and brought a true smile to her lips. The mood was suddenly cut by a sharp voice. Zhezhi turned to see her mother watching, her eyes squinted in anger. Zhezhi could see her disdain for her new friend. Sprinting to her feet, she ran to explain and apologize, transforming back into the child her parents demanded she be. A few days later, the girl received a scroll. She unrolled it carefully, gasping softly at the sight. The painting showed her and Zhezhi in the sprawling fields of her home, picking vegetables together. A letter fell from the painting. "I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I had so much fun harvesting the field with you! The sickle, the sun beating down on us, my sore hands... It made me realize what my paintings were missing. This is my best work, and it's for you! I hope you like it! Maybe next week, I can sneak out to help again." Reading the letter made the girl smile, but she couldn't help being confused by Zhezhi's last line. Next week? Did she think the vegetables would grow back that fast? |
| No More Hesitation | Zhezhi | Zhezhi stood a short distance from the art supply store, eyeing the tall, gruff-looking clerk who was frowning and scribbling something in a notepad. She hesitated, taking a few steps back. "Maybe I should go to another store..." The thought had barely crossed her mind before she dismissed it. "But... this is the only store with the latest supplies..." Zhezhi stopped her pacing and pulled out a coin, a habit she had developed for situations like this. She tossed it into the air, caught it, and thought to herself, "The usual. Heads, I go in. Tails, I come back another time..." She slowly opened her palm, peeking briefly before quickly squeezing her hand shut. "No, wait. Best two out of three." The coin went up and came back down. "Heads again," she sighed. Clutching the coin tightly, Zhezhi took a deep breath and steeled herself. "Oh well, I guess this is a sign. I can't keep running away." Taking a deep breath to gather her courage, she marched to the store and pushed the door open with all her might. The sharp ring of the bell above the door sent her nerves into overdrive. She rushed forward with a lowered gaze and blurted out the lines she'd rehearsed countless times, as if her tongue was on fire. "H-Hello! I'd like to buy some new paint! Six cans of Malachite Green No.3, five cans of Azurite Blue No.3, five cans of Vermilion, three cans of Indigo, three cans of Ochre, three cans of Gamboge, and two cans of Golden Yellow. Thank you!" Relieved to have finished her sentence smoothly without a single pause, Zhezhi inhaled deeply to catch her breath. When she looked up, she met the eyes of a surprised-looking clerk who was just coming out from the back room. "Hello there. How can I help you?" The clerk's gentle voice was a stark contrast to what Zhezhi had imagined. Realizing that her earlier words had gone unheard, she froze. "Uhh... I..." "Are you looking for any specific art supplies?" "P-Paint... I..." "The new releases? They're quite popular." "N-No... I think I..." "No rush. Feel free to look around." Zhezhi, sweating and nervous, walked over to a shelf. "O-Okay..." The clerk's detailed and professional introduction of the products gradually eased Zhezhi's nerves. She relaxed and was able to name what she wanted, even chatting about her painting. "If you're using White Jade Paper, these new products would pair nicely." "Perfect, that's just what I needed. I'll take these too." Walking out of the store with her new supplies, Zhezhi felt light and confident. "I guess I can talk to people when I'm not feeling anxious. Next time... I'll try it without flipping the coin. Maybe it'll work out again..." |
| Shaping a World | Zhezhi | Unsuspecting, Zhezhi was thrown out of her home, her belongings strewn across the courtyard like discarded memories. As she gazed at the mess, it dawned on her that she herself was just another discarded item, abandoned by her parents like the rest. Desperate for shelter, she first sought out places familiar to her. But those once kind and welcoming turned cold when they learned of her plight. Behind their polite excuses, Zhezhi saw the distaste in their eyes as they pointed her to an old hotel on a street corner. The hotel's decaying corridors teemed with unfamiliar fights and loud arguments. Sitting on the bed, she wrapped herself tightly in the musty covers, eyes fixed on the flimsy wooden door barricaded by a table. She longed for sleep, hoping to wake from this nightmare, yet fear kept her awake, afraid the door would shatter if she closed her eyes. Her descent from luxury to hardship stretched endlessly, each day a painful reminder. The staggering figures of her parents' debt seemed to flicker across the ceiling in the dim light of her windowless room. Her hands, covered in worn bandages, trembled from painting non-stop for two days, but she dared not rest. "It's a big order... I can't mess this up," she murmured, her weary eyes blurring the landscapes on her canvas. Suddenly, harsh shouts pierced the night, jarring her awake from an unintended nap at her desk. She stumbled to the door, slipping on something wet at her feet. Aching from the fall, she stood nervously at the door of her leaking room, apologizing repeatedly to her neighbors. The biting cold seeped through her wet clothes, and the neighbors' complaints echoed through the thin walls. She stared at her painting, ruined by the water, and a heavy sigh escaped her lips, compressing the room's thin air, almost crushing her fragile frame. Zhezhi's exhausted figure stood motionless in the cold puddle. After a long pause, a faint light glowed in the cramped room. With paint-stained fingertips, she scrolled through her Terminal, "First, shut off the water valve... then replace the damaged parts..." She had made a habit of looking up solutions for life's unexpected challenges. "I think I've got it... I'll give it a try..." She waded through the water, slowly making her way to the source of the problem. |
| A Ray of Light | Zhezhi | "This painting is a reflection of me. Everyone needs to see at first glance that it's an expensive masterpiece." "If this is the best you can do, I'll take it. But only at half the price." The client's words echoed in Zhezhi's mind. She wandered the streets with her bundle of paintings, feeling a sense of numbness begin to creep over her as the festive preparations around her started to fade into the background. It wasn't until she tripped, her paintings scattering, that she snapped out of her daze. Without bothering to look for her glasses, at first she scrambled to pick up her work. But as the wind blew some paintings out of reach, she stopped, staring for a moment before deciding to let them go. "Forget it, they're lousy anyway... What's the point of having them back..." She dropped the remaining paintings in her arms, letting them fall. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice someone stopping in front of her. A stranger picked up her paintings and glasses, handing them back to her. "Did you paint these? I've never seen art like that. Remarkable." Zhezhi, stunned by the compliment, could only accept the outstretched paintings and watch the stranger turn and leave alongside their companions, disappearing into the night. She fumbled to put on her glasses to catch a clearer glimpse of who it was, but all she caught was a distant silhouette. "Someone complimented me... " "They had nothing to gain from it. It was just... simple praise for my paintings." The stranger's words, simple yet sincere, pierced through her paintings to reach her heart. For the first time ever, it was as if someone saw her creative intentions. It was like a sudden beam of light scattering the dark clouds that had long weighed her down, bringing a sense of warmth long overdue. Zhezhi stared in the direction the stranger had vanished, clutching her paintings tightly. Until... "Excuse me... Hello?" Days later, a familiar voice startled her out of her thoughts as she searched for the perfect spot to paint. "Don't worry, we're just here to chat." Zhezhi looked up and saw a pair of golden eyes. The memory of that night rushed back—this was the person who had complimented her work, their voice free of the pretense she had grown to despise from everyone else. That voice had given her strength when she had been ready to give it all up. The warmth from that night returned, filling a world of pale grey with color once more. |
 Street Antique Appraisal | Youhu | On the busiest street in Jinzhou, a small appraisal stall occasionally appears, adding a touch more excitement to the bustling scene. The stall owner is a lively girl Youhu who confidently considers herself a seasoned appraiser. She claims that with just a light touch, she can discern the history behind any antique. Her early career saw just one slip-up—misjudging an ancient Ding. She later purchased it from the client, repaired it with her cryogenic powers, and now keeps it close as a reminder to stay sharp. Despite her playful self-promotion and carefree antics, people don't mind trusting her, especially since her appraisal fees are modest—just the cost of a meal and a sprinkle of compliments. "This folding screen predates Jinzhou, a rare treasure perfectly preserved! You can even call it a witness to Jinzhou's rise and fall!" "The glaze here? Smooth as jade, soft as silk. It's not ancient, but the craftsmanship is definitely worth the price!" Her insights, whether on artistry or historical value, hit the mark every time, earning her the trust of her clients. Adding to the charm of her appraisals is a unique flair—call it a show, if you will. While others might inspect antiques with magnifying glasses, Youhu examines each piece with lively gestures, reciting witty poems as if she's performing some ancient, mysterious ritual. Initially, people worried she might accidentally damage their valuables, but after seeing her skills, they've come to embrace her eccentric ways. Perhaps true masters just have their... well, quirks. |
| A Returned Treasure | Youhu | Youhu always carries a scroll-like box filled with miniature replicas of antiques she's appraised, each crafted with her Forte. These replicas aren't just souvenirs, but handy tools to fend off Tacet Discords. In the summer, they can double as coolers. Just pop some fruit in with an iced replica, and voilà—a chilled snack! Inside the box is also a booklet where she writes limericks about every antique she encounters: "A guy from the Ministry of Development asked me to find that missing enameled porcelain from Huanglong. Noted!" "That merchant definitely got the celadon tripod incense burner through shady means! I hinted he should return it, but who knows if he'll listen. Better keep an eye on him." "That carpenter at the city gate is chopping wood with a centuries-old knife! The audacity! What a disgrace! I'll... let it slide this time. Just need to tell him the knife's true worth later." These interesting notes help keep her memories fresh. Take that merchant with the incense burner. After weeks of strange events and sleepless nights, he recalled the street appraiser's warning: "Haiya, that incense burner's from a bad place! Your luck won't hold up against it—misfortune's coming your way!" She had said it with such flair, like a storyteller spinning a tall tale. The merchant hadn't taken her seriously at first, but his recent misfortunes made him reconsider. One night, after the fifteenth eerie shadow flitted outside his window with its bone-chilling shriek, he rushed to return the stolen burner. Had he dared to look up, he might have seen another scene unfolding: The Patrollers had spotted a suspicious figure on the rooftops and moved in to question them. Youhu, dressed in a makeshift disguise, saw the guards approaching and fled, stumbling a few times along the way. Even as she ran, she managed to jot down in her booklet: "Celadon tripod incense burner, returned to its rightful place." |
| Where History Endures | Youhu | Youhu was born in a bustling port town known for its antique trade, where her parents were both esteemed appraisers. On her first birthday, her parents, following local customs, surrounded her with objects representing various trades. It was said that the first item the child touched would predict their future interests and career path. But that day, little Youhu ignored pens, swords, and cooking utensils, crawling straight to her mother to latch onto the family's precious heirloom—a genuine antique Ruyi ring—and refused to let go. Growing up surrounded by antiques, Youhu's love for them blossomed. She was fascinated by everything about them, soaking up the driest, most obscure appraisal facts with a twinkle in her eye. But what she loved most was listening to the stories her parents told about the antiques. The deep chimes of the ancient bell echoed with memories of distant times when people knelt in devotion before golden statues praying for their family's wellbeing. The stone carvings depicted bold youths drawing their bows, warding off Tacet Discords to protect the people. Youhu's lively nature shone through as she immersed herself in the world of antiques, the Tacet Mark on her arm glowing faintly to illuminate her eyes. In every antique, she saw a little piece of history and a glimpse into the remnants of a civilization. This magic still holds her spellbound today. Chenpi, Youhu's master, often praised her talent. "To be honest, your knowledge of antiques lacks structure. But don't worry, I'll teach you everything you need to know." "What's truly valuable is your respect for the history in these antiques and your keen perception. In other words, you're a natural appraiser." And Youhu would flash a cheeky grin, "Pfft, my parents already said I was born for this." |
| The Value of Antiques | Youhu | The so-called renowned appraisers are always squabbling over the value of antiques. First, they downplay an antique's value, snapping it up for a pittance, only to turn around and hype it up to sell for a fortune. Craftsmanship? History? Mere afterthoughts in their pricing games. However, Youhu has a different approach. For her, the worth of an antique isn't measured solely in currency, but something more unique. Genuine appreciation is the first factor. Youhu enjoys facilitating deals where buyers are deeply respectful of the antiques and sellers entrust their cherished items to someone who truly appreciates them. As the antique changes hands, its frequency is mirrored in the hearts of both parties. Another factor would be conscience. When Youhu was seven, raiders ransacked the town looking for riches. To them, antiques were just another form of loot. The wealthy merchants and local appraisers panicked, abandoning their treasures as they escaped. The raiders, ignorant about the true worth of these antiques, justified their plundering by saying the people here didn't deserve their treasures anyway, and such items might as well be taken somewhere they would be appreciated. But not everyone fled. Some stood their ground, facing the raiders with steely resolve. They knew the true value of these antiques and defended them to the bitter end. And that brings us to the final factor. The courage to sacrifice. Now, it is Youhu's turn to make a sacrifice. Whether it is her talent, her knowledge, or the lengths she will go to recover them, she is determined to return every lost antique back to its rightful owner. In the past, those who couldn't see the value in these relics trampled all over them. But today, Youhu's mission is to return each lost antique to where it truly belongs. |
| The Ruyi Ring | Youhu | Over the course of examining countless antiques, Youhu has developed a habit of replicating her favorites with her cryogenic powers. She once made an ice chime. It didn't quite match the original's melody, but the crisp sound of shattering ice was delightful in its own way. She also crafted an ice Ruyi, swinging it with such gusto that she nearly smashed the nearby ice cauldron and mask! People often ask about her most treasured antique. Youhu always hesitates, her eyes fixed on the Ruyi ring before her. This is her family's heirloom—once shattered, but now pieced together with ice. Her mother had told her that the Ruyi ring symbolized completeness and good fortune. Youhu was mesmerized by the clear and translucent jade. But when raiders came, she could only watch as the ring and other treasures were pillaged and shipped away. Three years later, she found those plundered items displayed as trophies in a museum. Despite an exhaustive search, the Ruyi ring was nowhere to be found. It wasn't until she stumbled into a dusty storage room that she found the ring's shattered fragments, along with a tag that read "Low value, not for display." What she valued most was dismissed by those who didn't understand its true worth. Heartbroken yet determined, Youhu clutched the fragments and trudged through knee-deep snow, her tears freezing as they fell. Driven by a sudden thought, she ignored the biting cold, crouched down, and used her Forte to piece the ring back together from the ice before losing consciousness. When she awoke, her hands were etched with delicate snowflake patterns. The next thing she saw was a perfect, gleaming ice Ruyi ring lying beside her, as if it had been waiting for her all along. |
 Stakes and Art | Carlotta | The night rain drummed the window and stirred up an odor of pungent liquor. Carlotta didn't like the smell, but she took comfort in that only those compelled by the strongest of desires would venture out in such weather, and such individuals were rarely subtle. A woman in worn yet carefully maintained clothing tried to appear nonchalant, but her eyes were fixated on the auctioneer's every move like a desperate gambler. A flamboyant man in the central foyer loudly expounded upon various art styles, unwilling to relinquish the attention he had attracted, all the while unaware that he had conflated several distinct schools of art. Finally, a boy lurked by a window, furtively glancing at Carlotta before catching himself and looking away—rather tactless, but by no means a problem. For Carlotta, this was a game whose outcome was hers to decide. This was not Carlotta's first auction. On stage under a soft spotlight, the pieces came and went. Potential buyers murmured among themselves, forgoing discussions of artistic merit in favor of analyzing each work's price history. Creating art is a noble endeavor, but the business of art is far less so. Here each transaction was a present wager on a future payoff. Even so, Carlotta still raised her placard for niche works that held little mainstream appeal. To her, these pieces were part of a grand strategy—whether a meaningless melange of shapes or a deconstructive expression of true artistry... time would reveal the answer, with returns far exceeding expectations. Such behavior was initially met with skepticism, but Carlotta's air of certainty soon began to sway the bidders and shape their choices. It seemed as though she had a strategy uniquely grounded in art theory, aesthetic sensibility, and market insight. Yet she was about to go one step further in search of greater heights. And then, the moment arrived, right then and there... In the final seconds of bidding, Carlotta raised her placard once more to the astonishment of onlookers. Seeing this, the flamboyant man instantly one-upped her bid. Countdown. Bid. Countdown. Bid... The auction rushed forward, each bid thicker and faster than the last, pushing everyone's emotions toward a suffocating crescendo. The woman in worn clothing widened her eyes in disbelief at the rising sums. The boy scarcely caught his breath as he whipped his head back and forth at the frenzy of activity. Just as the auctioneer's hammer was about to fall, Carlotta waved at her rival with a rueful smile. "How unexpected that there is another who recognizes the true worth of this painting. Your willingness to stake such a sum... It rightfully belongs to you." The event drew to a close, but Carlotta still had a few matters to settle. She watched the man leave with the painting before retreating into a quiet corner. The boy who had locked eyes with her earlier approached. "I let slip that Carlotta Montelli had her eyes set on a masterpiece. Just like you instructed, Miss." Carlotta smiled and gave the boy his reward. If he stayed agreeable, she wouldn't mind taking him into her confidence again, should she need him again for some future trivial task. As for the woman lingering nearby... "Miss Carlotta, I'm very grateful for all that you've done for me and my father. It's just... it's just..." The woman hesitated, searching for the right words. Carlotta didn't miss a beat. "No, the piece sold at a fair price. I used my methods, but your father's painting is indeed worth that much. Sometimes, people simply lack patience." Everyone got what they wanted. So did she. With that thought, Carlotta left the auction hall to disappear into the darkness and rain. |
| Past Overdue | Carlotta | That night the rain came suddenly. It flooded the streets and filled those final moments before midnight with a deeper misery. Carlotta lifted her eyes to glimpse blurred shadows through the faint light piercing sheets of water. Wasn't she another shadow in the downpour? Yes... A shadow that reaped lives to right past wrongs. The rain would not stop her from finding the one she sought. Click... Click... Click. The sound of heels on pavement drew nearer. A door creaked open, and Carlotta strode inside. She had traveled across Ragunna to find the man standing before her, nearly forgotten by time. Her words were terse, "To be frank, I've come in the name of the Montellis to read you your obituary." "I knew you would come." Silver threaded through his hair, his face worn by time and regret. His voice was steady as he regarded Carlotta blankly. "The Montellis do not forget blood debts. Sooner or later, I knew I'd be found." A window in the room was ajar, and a cold breeze crept in, bringing the chill of the night. The old man shivered, but his frailty only irritated Carlotta. He spoke as though he hadn't once schemed against the Montellis and ingratiated himself with the Fisalias. As if he hadn't orchestrated the Montelli headquarters raid which cost so many their lives, even after the family had agreed to a deal over the West End. Carlotta's retort was sharp. "You knew the consequences of your actions." "Bah! You Montellis never change. It's been ten years. Everything's over. You took back the West End, while I've been cowering like a rat in a hole. I live in fear that come any rain-sodden night, someone like you might sneak in and end my life." The old man sighed, his expression hardening. His hand shot out for a hidden weapon. Carlotta said nothing. Her crystal morphed into a gun in a silent but lethal threat. For Carlotta, this was not about revenge, this was about unpaid debts and lost respect. Any Montelli could die, but as long as one Montelli remained, the family would not fall. A Montelli's absolute trust in their kin gave them the peace of mind to lay down their lives for the good of the family. Should they fall, another would take up their mantle and finish what had to be done. So, even after ten years, this debt had to be settled. Only then would it truly be over. It was never a question of money and closure but of loyalty and commitment. Bang! Another "gem" shattered into shards. The old man slumped to the floor. He looked up, determined to keep Carlotta in sight, but he could no longer move. "Cough... cough... You have not won... this game does not end.... in death..." Yes. It was a game that only ended once spent. Carlotta repeated the thought as she stepped into the street. The night air gently brushed her cheek, carrying away the room's echoing silence. She closed the door. Before that, A note with "Debts Cleared" printed on it fell gently by the foot of the old man. And so... where there is death inside, outside there will always be Ragunna. |
| Ballroom Death of Dance | Carlotta | That night, the rain kept sliding down Carlotta's hair onto her face. She felt drained staggering forward, as if she were drowning in the fine drizzle. Carlotta rued her habit of not carrying an umbrella. She desperately wanted to rest under one, but the approaching footsteps told her there would be no respite. No matter, Carlotta bit down on her glove and tore it off her hand. She had to continue this deadly dance with her life on the line. Earlier that night... the most opulent ballroom at City Hall played host to a gathering attended by the Order, the Fisalias, and the Montellis, all powerful forces with their own agendas. Carlotta was no different. She had chosen a dress and heels that offered her freedom of movement. She would melt into the crowd and wait in the shadows. Carlotta stepped onto the dance floor, exchanging a polite smile with the Fisalia representative. "You look especially enchanting tonight, Miss Carlotta. Do you have plans for later?" "No, just enjoying the evening," Carlotta replied, her fingers resting lightly on the waist of the stunning woman, whose hand slid up Carlotta's forearm in response. Their palms met and their bodies swayed in unison, their ruffled skirts like petals of a blooming flower. "Come now, surely you did not come just to dance? There are other Montellis here, I presume?" "You know how I enjoy these affairs. From the way you watch, I'd say the Fisalias have great stakes in tonight's proceedings." The beautiful woman shifted her rhythm, grip tightening as she attempted to seize the lead. Carlotta let the pull guide her, spinning easily back into the embrace. "The Order holds the reins of this city. We Fisalias will not allow you to disrupt the delicate balance. The Montelli vision is too radical." "You call us radical, and yet it is you who hungers for power. You seek to control the tide, as if it could ever be held still." Their duet grew increasingly frenetic as both sought to seize the upper hand. It became a dance of delicate evasion, brief moments of contact before pulling apart in the same fluid motion. As the music reached its climax, the woman drew back, glancing at the crowd, her gaze searching for the other hidden Montellis. Carlotta gripped the woman's hand, guiding her back into their rhythmic dance. The music kept them bound together. The woman had no escape, and she dared not make a scene. All she could do was glare at Carlotta with malice. "The Montellis have ears everywhere. From the start, you were after my "children." I hope you're prepared to dance until death do us part." Their dance suddenly took on a new meaning. Carlotta halted, spun, struck, and the targets fell... Her tango became a single, deadly waltz with the woman's guards and "children" all the way to here, their struggle punctuated by the relentless rain. Carlotta felt poison seep into her wound, its mind-bending venom ravaging her veins. Something metallic trickled from the corner of her mouth. Carlotta smirked, letting out a soft, bitter laugh. Was this the fate of that woman's last dance partner? No matter. Sooner or later, all who deal in death meet its embrace. As the poison stripped Carlotta of her senses and tore away all reason and sanity, she bowed, and then with a smile, shone with a brilliance that turned night into day. If death was inevitable, why hold back on the dance of a lifetime...? |
| In the Name of the Montellis | Carlotta | That night, Carlotta knew it was raining. She couldn't see the droplets, but the rainwater had left streaks on the windowpane. Carlotta shifted her skirts and looked into the mirror. The wound had healed nicely and the scar was no longer visible. The toxins had also been completely purged. But she wasn't keen on resting. She kept it to herself, but doing nothing made her uneasy as if something was slipping through her fingers. Carlotta decided to consult Grandfather on how best to handle the recent "troubles." She found him in a corridor by the foyer. A late sleeper like herself, it was not unusual for Grandfather to be up at this hour. She could not tell whether he was watching the rain outside or admiring the painting on the wall, or perhaps... "Grandfather, are you waiting for me?" "Not exactly. You see, I was thinking about you when you first joined the family." His response caught Carlotta off guard. Truth be told, she didn't like the person she was back then: naïve, weak, abandoned, far removed from being a Montelli. There was so much she had to learn—about Ragunna, the Montellis, and problems that required elegant solutions. Almost no one believed in her except Grandfather. Back then the only thing she took pride in was her Forte, which she instinctively wielded as a means to an end. Over time, she had adapted to the Montelli Code, using her abilities to handle the family's more delicate matters. Had something gone wrong in the process? Carlotta believed that her current role in the Montelli hierarchy was most beneficial to the family. They had accepted her, approved of her, and now, they needed her. She was a true granddaughter to the Padrino, more deserving of the Montelli name than ever before. So why was Grandfather bringing up the past? "Do you remember? When you asked me to make you my Executor, I gave you those opal gloves right here, in this very spot," Grandfather gently patted Carlotta's shoulder. "I have never doubted your abilities, but I've begun to wonder if that was truly what you wanted." What she truly wanted and what she was doing now... Carlotta saw little difference between the two. Life stretched on and through it, people needed certain beliefs, ideals, or loved ones to be their anchor. For Carlotta being a Montelli was her anchor—and the Montelli family was her everything. "No, that's where you're mistaken," Grandfather said softly as if seeing exactly what Carlotta was thinking, "A true Montelli does not live solely for the family. She does not exist to only follow rules, whether set by myself or by the family. She must feel the world and make her own rules." "I want to see you shine because I believe you possess brilliance from within. Before you constrained yourself to the idea of what it meant to be a Montelli, you had just begun to define your own rules." The sky outside began to lighten... In the end, Grandfather declined to let Carlotta keep the role of Executor. Instead, he asked her to write a letter inviting representatives from the Black Shores to Ragunna. Carlotta looked out the window. After the rain, Ragunna was enveloped in a dull gray mist. The city was a slumbering beast, waiting for the grand arrival of the Carnevale to awaken it. At that moment, Carlotta was unaware that it was during this rainy night that Francesco Montelli made a decision that would shape the future of the Montellis. He would employ special means to return the power of choice to her hands. And she, like her original self, would pave the way for what was to come. |
| In the Name of Carlotta | Carlotta | At dusk, the rain has finally stopped. The soft glow of the setting sun gently washes over Carlotta as she sips coffee by the harbor. The tide rolls in and out, its golden ripples mirroring the endless cycle of Ragunna's days and nights. With no particular destination in mind, she wandered, pausing at random. This isn't her norm, but in the future, she might just make a habit of it, much like she has started making a habit of searching for parts of herself that belonged to Carlotta alone, separate from the Montellis. After celebrating the Carnevale with the distinguished guest, and exposing Capollo's betrayal with {Male=his;Female=her} help, Carlotta finally understood what Grandfather had been unable to fully express on that rainy night. He was concerned that she might do things for the family that went against her principles. Grandfather hadn't drawn a path for her based on his own past. He had only hoped that she would avoid being trapped by the established pattern. But the truth is more complex than that. Her decision to remain as Executor was certainly made with the family's interest at heart. But every step that led to her decision was a choice she gladly made, and in the end, that was all there was to it. She was never one to be bound by rules. Not in the past. Not now. And not ever. Naturally, as a Montelli, she could not afford to think only of herself. She was drawn to extremes, to reckless solutions, unafraid of change or risk. But when it came time to act, when decisions had to be made, she tempered those inclinations. In a way, this was indeed a constraint imposed by her identity—a collar forged by blood and duty. But it was also a bond that anchored her. She is Carlotta Montelli. She will always be needed. She will be cast aside again. Despite that single constraint, she has a freedom few could claim. A life devoted to creating a singular, defining masterpiece—Carlotta has seen many such lives. The tapestry of her future is a subject far more enticing, and one she is more than willing to weave, thread by thread. To capture the essence of who she is, she will continue to cut, arrange, and layer... until she can call it a rich enough work of art. But for now, she wants to permit herself a small sense of pride. Carlotta isn't ready to bear the parts of herself that exist only in the quiet spaces of her mind... But perhaps {PlayerName} would be the exception. Indeed, she still preferred to call {Male=him;Female=her} Cat's Eye. They had walked shoulder to shoulder for a time, but in the end, neither of them could have paused their journey for the other. {Male=He;Female=She} had been blunt about her "excessive perfection," and so, in keeping with the promise she made to "be less reserved," Carlotta will weave that Cat's Eye into the fabric of her story. She can't shake the feeling that fate is not done with them yet. As for when, or how, or what new adventures may unfold between them... she can scarcely wait. In the distance, a Gondola cuts through still water as it glides back toward the dock. A chorus of calls between those aboard and onshore marks the fading echoes of the day's clamor. After the rain, no one can say what transpired in the dark of the night. For now, only the dying light brushes her skin, marking the end of the cycle of the day. She takes one last sip from her cup, turns, and walks into the encroaching darkness. In the stillness of the world, she will dance her own dance. |
 Words Left Unsaid | Hiyuki | The first time Hiyuki heard the truth of her own past, it spilled from Gyokuro's drunken lips. Hiyuki's mouth tightened. Without a word, she poured herself a glass of the bitter liquor. "Hiyuki... My dear Hiyuki..." "You can't do this. You can't be the damn Miko of Flaming Sakura... Your life was never meant to be like this!" Hiyuki's eyes narrowed. If the people of Ashinohara saw their usually dignified and poised Miko of Flaming Sakura acting like this behind closed doors... The second hand ticked. The minute hand followed. At last, the hour hand lurched forward. By Ashinohara time, this very moment marked Hiyuki's transition into adulthood. She sighed and downed the drink in one burning gulp. "You managed. You think I cannot?" The liquor scorched her throat and settled like lead in her slight frame. So this was what they called the "drink of adulthood." Its taste, she decided, was hardly worth the wait. Hiyuki stood and draped a blanket over Gyokuro's muttering form. She lingered in the corner for a long moment. At last, she stepped forward, tucked the edges tight, and closed the door softly behind her. The next morning, Gyokuro's fury toward the steward tasked with the Legacy Talisman's succession rang out loud enough to be heard two streets away. The Suzu's power lay in "drawing upon the future." In simple terms, it meant every use exacted a toll from the bearer's remaining lifespan. In the worst case, it meant a successor who inherited the bell today might vanish into nothingness in their very first battle against a Threnodian. Because the price was so high, successors were usually chosen early. Hiyuki had stayed at Gyokuro's side for more than a decade. Even if Gyokuro refused to name her... who else could possibly be chosen? The steward, unable to handle Gyokuro's temper, could only offer a strained, placating smile. "Even if not Hiyuki, surely you must name someone, Lady Miko." Gyokuro fell silent for a few breaths. She sighed, cleared her throat, and prepared to resume her tirade. It was Hiyuki who finally opened the door, ending the farce. "For years, I have journeyed with you through Ashinohara. I know what each duty demands." "I have mastered every art a miko must know. The weaving of charms, the ceremonial dances—all from teachers of your own choosing." "Only I can ensure the name of the Flaming Sakura remains untarnished, Gyokuro... No. Lady Miko." Gyokuro's brow furrowed. She waved a hand dismissively. "You've learned it all, have you? Then don't you realize the Suzu will be the death of you?" "I was an orphan you took in. My family lies buried beneath the snow from that Threnodian attack. I have no attachments left." The room fell suffocatingly quiet. The only sound was the raspy, obsessive scrape of Gyokuro's thumb as she rubbed the bell on her wrist. She tried to speak, but in the end, no words came. |
| There Will Never Be Another... | Hiyuki | The days following Hiyuki's succession were inevitably frantic. Where once she had simply walked in Gyokuro's shadow, she now found the weight of every duty resting on her own shoulders. Ashinohara had long suffered under the Threnodian's shadow, forcing the land to weave its very survival around the mikos. As the bearer of the Suzu, Hiyuki's status was as uniquely sacred as it was heavy, and her jurisdiction covered the entirety of Ashinohara. She became a nomad of necessity, racing between different places to assist the local mikos and turn the tides of battle. Yet a miko was as much a living symbol as a blade. Wherever people would gather, a miko must appear to remind them why they fought. The Miko of Flaming Sakura was no exception. Hiyuki carried both burdens well. Perhaps it was because she had learned each duty at Gyokuro's side since childhood, combat and ceremony alike had long since become second nature. The only thing missing was Gyokuro's specific Flaming Sakura swordsmanship. Gyokuro had stubbornly refused to pass down the forms, even going so far as to distance herself from Hiyuki. "Fine. If you will not teach me, I will learn in secret. One day, I will master it. One day." But that day never came. "The Suzu allows the bearer to draw upon the future, and a successor who inherits the Suzu today might vanish into nothingness during their very first battle with a Threnodian..." Hiyuki couldn't remember the words the steward whispered when placing the Suzu in her hands. She couldn't remember the clumsy way she tied it to her wrist, mimicking a gesture she had seen so many times. She couldn't recall the weather that day, or the face of the person who handed her the small wooden box containing Gyokuro's legacy. By the time the world rushed back into focus, she was sitting alone in the hollowed halls of the seat of Flaming Sakura, clutching the wish slip that had been inside the box. Blood froze in her chest. A creeping frost left her fingertips numb. Inch by inch, Hiyuki dragged herself to that familiar corner of the room and curled up. She had crumpled the wish slip earlier. Now she smoothed it flat. "...I see." "...I accept your wish." "...There will never be another Miko of Flaming Sakura." |
| Snowed In | Hiyuki | "Lady Hiyuki, you have served as the Miko of Flaming Sakura for a century now. If we are to renew the contract..." "It is of no consequence." "Then, as per our previous arrangement... for how many years shall we set the renewal?" "Fill it as you wish." "I did not expect you to be quite so like the previous Miko... Ahem. Very well. As you wish, Miko of Eternal Flaming Sakura." The steward bowed and withdrew, closing the door with practiced reverence. Hiyuki noted that the staff accompanying him had changed three times over the decades. She shook her head, eyes narrowing as they fell upon the envelope on her desk. After a pause, she reached instead for a teacup that had long since gone cold. "Just like the previous Miko... am I?" How long had it actually been since she took up the title? Long enough that "Hiyuki" was now a fixed entry in Ashinohara's history books. Was it a long time? Not long enough. True to the fortune lot she had inherited that year, Hiyuki had used her own strength to prove a silent vow: There will never be another Miko of Flaming Sakura. Gradually, the voices urging her to select a successor had faded. The Office of Legacy Talismans now treated its visits to the shrine as a mere formality. Even the steward, she suspected, believed a successor unnecessary. To them, Hiyuki had become the title itself. Yet Hiyuki often heard a voice. It wasn't the grating, persistent lure of the Fractsidus. It was a peaceful murmur stating facts plainly in her ear. "Hiyuki, you have held on for so long. But your enemy, the Threnodian, has a far longer lifespan. It will wait until you die, until every miko, and every successor of every miko, has passed into memory." "Does this path of resistance truly have an end?" Cold tea is always the most bitter. The over-steeped acridity clung to her tongue, making each breath feel heavy. Hiyuki tapped a finger against the envelope on the desk. Instantly, a layer of frost raced across its surface. With one more light touch, the unopened Fractsidus seal shattered into crystalline dust. Hiyuki rose and called out to the child who had volunteered to help clean the shrine, reminding her to stay vigilant and watch for intruders while she was away. Her lips curled into a smile as she ruffled the girl's hair and pressed a protective charm into her small palm. "Lady Miko, where are you going to help this time?" "Honami. I will be back soon. Keep this charm with you during this time, all right?" Hiyuki waved goodbye to the little girl. As she turned to leave, the bell on her wrist caught the light, shining as brilliantly as ever. |
| Vanished Honami | Hiyuki | The people of Ashinohara had long grown accustomed to the distortions wrought by the Threnodian. Survival was a matter of routine: seek shelter, wait for the local miko to deploy, and if the situation spiraled, wait for the recovery teams and the Miko of Flaming Sakura to arrive. To Hiyuki, this felt like just another fight among thousands. She cut through the monsters with practiced efficiency, checking the integrity of the barrier as she always did. As the civilians emerged from the shelters, parents pointed her out to their children with reverent relief. "Look, that's Lady Miko of Flaming Sakura." Hiyuki offered a slight nod in response. She stepped over a fallen "No Entry" sign and turned back toward the barrier to finish her sweep. Focus. Strike. Sheathe... Hm? The blade passed through the air as it always did. Yet something was different. Subtle, but unmistakable. Hiyuki reexamined the entire barrier. Everything appeared intact, yet a lingering, visceral wrongness clung to her fingertips. She released her hilt. Flexed her wrist. Pressed her fingers together— A single drop of iridescent black mire welled from her skin. It pooled in the creases of her palm before dripping to the ground, spreading silently beneath her feet. Hiyuki drew her blade. Frost snapped into existence around her. First, contain it. Evacuate the civilians. Then find a way to— She turned, but the cry died in her throat. There was nothing before her. It was as if the air itself vanished. For one frozen moment, Hiyuki could not breathe. Honami was gone. Aside from the shattered sign at her feet and a trace of mud creeping up the hem of her dress, there was nothing left. Hiyuki reached out, but her hand recoiled on its own. She gasped for breath, but there was no oxygen. It was as if the atmosphere itself had been erased from existence. She raised her blade to strike, but found no enemy to sever. Only a faint, residual frequency remained, proof that the Threnodian had acted, for a fraction of a second, with power never before recorded. According to Ashinohara's records, Honami had been pulled into another dimension at that moment. Even after a desperate appeal to the Spacetrek Collective for their most advanced tracking technology, not a single trace could be found. When the others finally led Hiyuki away, she was still mindlessly rubbing the bell on her wrist, her mind trapped in that moment of shock. Was this silent disaster her fault? Of course it was her fault. As the Miko of Flaming Sakura, she had failed to protect Honami. And of course, it was not her fault. Against the power of a Threnodian, a single person didn't matter—even one who could draw a million futures to safeguard the present. Hiyuki returned to the Flaming Sakura. She took the protective charm from the child at the gate, forcing a ghost of a smile. Then she walked slowly to her room and pushed open the door. There, sitting quietly on her desk, was the envelope she had destroyed. "Hiyuki, oh Hiyuki... Does this path truly have an end?" |
| Even Should the Path Have No End | Hiyuki | Hiyuki didn't linger on the Fractsidus's many offers. No sane person would collaborate with those who viewed human lives as mere expendable fuel. Instead, she traveled across Ashinohara, leaving behind white paper birds infused with her own frequency. She instructed the local mikos that her mind was linked to these messengers, and should any insurmountable incident occur, she would be there the moment they crushed the bird. The path of resistance against the Threnodians... it had to have an end. It had to. It was then that Hiyuki heard word that the Spacetrek Collective was grappling with a critical lack of safety provisions for its expeditions. She saw an opportunity and proposed a "trade." She would ensure the safety of their exploration efforts, and in exchange, the Collective would forge her a blade using the pinnacle of Solaris technology. A weapon sharp enough to cleave through a Threnodian. Hiyuki joined the Spacetrek Collective as part of the Special Response Force. The unit had once been large, but casualties mounted as Aleph-1 grew more active. So Hiyuki submitted a request, proposing that henceforth, she alone would handle Threnodian containment and ensure the safety of those conducting surveys. When she first arrived here, the Collective was little more than a plot of foundation in the dirt. She watched as Lahai-Roi was built, step by step, and began to grasp the true measure of human potential. The facility's construction was a miracle, perhaps the greatest engineering feat in the history of Solaris. Yet it came not from gods, nor from any single hero. It was built, brick by brick, by people across all Solaris who dared to dream. "Lucilla." "Hmm?" Lucilla casually pulled a bottle of fine liquor from beneath the desk, a specialty from Ashinohara. A student hoping to pass their finals had left it at one of Hiyuki's frequent haunts, tucked under a neat note asking for the miko's blessing. Hiyuki sighed, set out two glasses, and pushed one toward the restless Lucilla. "The Spacetrek Collective... it was built to explore the stars beyond Solaris, was it not?" "That's the idea." "How fares the progress?" "Ugh..." Lucilla drained her drink in one go. "Still a long way off. Research is hitting walls everywhere, and the higher-ups keep breathing down our necks with impossible demands." Hiyuki rubbed the bell on her wrist, her eyes downcast. "Have any of you ever wondered... where the end of this path is?" Lucilla toyed with her empty glass, then gently clinked it against Hiyuki's. "There is no end, Hiyuki. Just like what you're trying to do... No end." "But we have to keep moving forward anyway." "Not to reach a finish line, but to take one more step alongside the people standing next to us." Hiyuki remained silent for a long time. Finally, she gave a soft nod and raised her glass, drinking deeply. The liquor scorched her throat and settled like lead in her slight frame. The bell on her wrist chimed—a solitary sound, but the Miko of Flaming Sakura would take her next step regardless. |
 Unsent Letter from Home | Lucilla | A letter lies quietly in the files box, stamped with the seal of Lucilla's mother, Kamerel. For a memory-type Resonator, diaries, notes, or other memo-keeping tools are dangerous media. They are the driftwood a drowning sailor clings to in a shipwreck. Faced with the crashing waves of memory fluctuation, you must rely on them lest you sink beneath the tide of recollection. But the moment you begin to unconsciously depend on external objects to fill the gaps in your memory, you also accept a certain risk. That someone, for instance, might tamper with your diary to rewrite who you think you are. Therefore, Lucilla, I forbid it. I forbid you to record your private matters by any means beyond your own mind. I forbid you to speak of them. I forbid you to form such a dependence. As a memory Resonator, you must become its master, the strongest, most dangerous being in your own sea of recollection. I wish for you a life without driftwood, without refuge. Without the need for me, or anyone else. And yet, as my own body began to fail, I found myself, without realizing it, keeping a diary. Perhaps memory-type Resonators are, in a way, premature inheritors of memory itself. The side effects you endure are merely a stage of life that every aging soul must inevitably experience. Lucilla, by the time this letter reaches you, I will have likely passed. You should know that I am not rambling to you out of sentimentality. This is a warning, a precaution, lest you forget who you are over something trivial. I have prepared materials for you—records of your past, to help you rebuild your Memory Palace. Of course, whether you use them is your choice. As with every choice before this one, it is entirely voluntary. |
| Surveillance Master Tape | Lucilla | A surveillance master tape, carefully housed inside a protective case of excellent quality. But its time registration has been ripped off, and the faces of everyone captured on it have been erased. A strange, almost twisted way to preserve it. A note can be found along with it: The Forte you awakened disrupted all the plans I had for you. By now, you should understand the challenge of protecting a "gifted" Resonator in the New Federation. I don't just want you to survive. You need to earn the right to live. "This is Madam Kamerel. Just tell her what you just told me, and then you can go, Andy." "Yes, sir. So, we received a report of a young girl who awakened her Forte..." "Just start from how you found her." "Ah, of course! My apologies... Using the camera's location-tracking system, we were quick to track her to a park about five kilometers from the reported location." "You're telling me a young girl ran five kilometers into the woods. Barefoot. In the middle of the night." "I..." "Take your time, Andy. Answer her truthfully." "Yes. When we found her, there was a bicycle. I'm certain I saw one. But then it just vanished. Turned into... a photograph." "This photograph right here, Madam Kamerel." "Are you sure you saw it? The bicycle turning into a photograph, I mean?" "Uh, I..." "Go get some rest, Andy. You've been up all night. You can go home." "Yes, sir. Thank you, madam. Please excuse me!" *Sound of door opening and closing* "This photograph was taken the day she first learned to ride a bicycle." "Luci's ability is a rare one even among memory-type Resonators. Try to remember, when did she awaken her Forte...?" "...I have no idea." "Her gifts will draw too much attention. We can't even use our contacts inside the government to protect her." "She has to leave." "Leave? Kamerel, where do you want to send her?" "That will be her decision." |
| A Letter from School | Lucilla | Two letters, one from a school in the New Federation, the other bearing Kamerel's seal. Her handwriting is so heavy that it nearly tears through the envelope. A small note is tucked inside: Don't forget, the world is full of incompetent teachers. [Letter Received] Dear Madam Kamerel, Please forgive my presumptuous letter. In accordance with the school's guidelines, I am writing to report on Miss Lucilla's conduct over the past several months. Overall, the situation is rather concerning. While her academic performance is impeccable, we have received reports from several students that her behavior at school is somewhat... inexplicable. Most of the time, she appears very withdrawn, yet occasionally she will suddenly become overly intimate with certain peers, claiming false memories as though they had been close friends for years. When her classmates calmly point out that they are not well acquainted, she immediately becomes depressed and utterly distraught. Madam Kamerel, as we discussed during Miss Lucilla's enrollment, while the school does not discriminate against Resonator students, all of this is predicated on the stability of her Forte. Her current condition, I regret to say, leaves much to be desired. [Reply Letter] Dear President Sofia, A presumptuous letter indeed. I am sorry to learn that your institution lacks the capacity to provide Lucilla with a sufficient, comprehensive education, as well as the basic awareness to guide students in normal social interaction. To my understanding, an educational institution that lacks even the fundamental ability to educate might be what is truly "inexplicable." Furthermore, I am astonished that your institution would mistake a child's clumsy attempts at making friends for instability in her Forte. I will be conveying this inappropriate characterization to the school inspector as well. It would appear your institution is not fit for Lucilla. Please have her belongings packed. I will be collecting her tomorrow. |
| Exploration Note | Lucilla | A scrap of paper carefully torn from a notebook. It bears the Spacetrek Collective's emblem. A short message is written on the back. I was very curious as to the kind of fortune that healed you, until I found that particular Roya man and asked him a few simple questions. If your old illness ever returns, his seemingly nonsensical remarks might help to stir your memory. I exhausted nearly every means of transport available to reach this remote Royan observation station mentioned in the report. I also confirmed once again that the one who saved her was nothing more than a shabby old man in his twilight years. No conspiracy. No hidden design. Her survival was purely by chance. This Roya also showed me the objects Lucilla had used her ability to read—random trinkets, nothing more. I cannot fathom what magic these objects possessed that allowed Lucilla to escape the hysteria brought on by her ability. Naturally, I would not believe this old man understood memory-type Resonators better than the New Federation's finest doctors. Truly a pointless journey. My interest in this place was spent almost immediately. "Madam, a simple truth, it is. If you only see through a camera lens, only observe through photographs, you will never grasp the cold of the frostlands, nor their vastness." "Don't play coy with me." "I am not. It was President Lucilla who told me this. After she laid her hands on these trivial little objects, she finally understood." "Understood what?" "That life is not a photograph. Life is flesh. Life is blood. Life must not be survived, but lived." "...Lucilla has always chosen her own way of living." "I have a child too. That is why I understand why you fail to see it. Just as I observe the frostlands, President Lucilla observes others. Tell me, have you always watched her the same way you do now?" the Roya asked me. An arrogant question. One that presumed to understand me. I did not answer him. |
| Within Pitch Black | Lucilla | Inside a heavy safe box lies a roll of film with no descriptive labeling. Only its material gives away its age. It appears only readable and playable through a device in Lucilla's posession. Upon playback, the screen stays pitch black, audio only. "It's so dark!" "You need to pop the lens cap off first to see anything." "Oh. Then I'll just leave it on for now." "Why?" "I'm not ready yet. I want my first photo to be you looking pretty!" "I don't need pictures to remember how I am. I have you." "Okay!" "Make a wish, Lucilla." …… …… "I wish... I can remember these moments forever." |
 Spring | Suisui | Spring days lingered, slow and sweet. In courtyards across Mingting, flowers were in magnificent bloom. Suisui sat slumped over her desk, a brush clutched in her hand and a smudge of ocher paint on her cheek. After painting intently for hours, she stood up to admire her masterpiece—a cluster of overlapping blues, greens, and deep reds. It was hard to tell what it was, but it radiated a cozy warmth. Content with her work, Suisui snatched the paper and dashed outside, her skirts stirring the air and sending blank sheets rustling behind her. "Yangyang! Yangyang—" In a flash, the paper was in Yangyang's hands. Suisui braced against the qin table, searching her sister's face. "Can you tell what it is?" Yangyang studied it, her fingertip tapping a golden smudge on the right, then a white one on the left. "It's... two little birds nestled together." Suisui's eyes lit up, and she smacked the table. "Exactly! They're birds! I knew those adults were blind! They kept saying they were baby chicks!" "No, they aren't." Yangyang put the drawing down and tilted her head. "A baby chick's tail droops. These are perked up." "That's right!" Suisui wanted nothing more than to scoop her sister up and spin her around. "You're the only one who understands my art!" Yangyang accepted the praise with only a soft curve of her lips. She pointed to the golden cluster on the right. "Is this one you, Sister?" "Mm-hmm! The one on the right is me, and the one on the left is you." Suisui leaned closer, using the tail end of her paintbrush to point at the snowy bird. "See? It's dainty. Just like you." That was how the springs of their childhood slipped by. Outside, clusters of pink and white blossoms hung heavy over green leaves. Whenever a breeze swept through, petals would drift onto the qin table, the girls' sketches, and their hair. Soft sunlight bathed the courtyard in a golden hue. Birds chirped beneath the eaves, blending with the drifting notes of Yangyang's qin. Suisui would lounge across her desk, or settle on the veranda, raising her drawings to the sun to watch the colors softly bloom across the paper... Days moved so slowly back then. The shadows beneath the eaves crept inch by inch, carrying whole afternoons away. And then, before one could even notice, many springs had already passed. |
| Summer | Suisui | Once summer arrived, the courtyard felt as suffocating as an upturned bamboo steamer. The ceaseless song of cicadas swelled from dawn till dusk. Even the lotus flowers in the water vat beneath the eaves hung limp, a perfect mirror of Suisui's mood. She lay sprawled across the windowsill, staring out at the sun-bleached sky. Behind her, Yangyang sat practicing her qin. She had replayed the same melody seven or eight times over, its notes seemingly melting in the dense heat. Listening to it, Suisui felt as though her own brain was about to dissolve into a puddle just like the music. "Are you going out, Sister?" Yangyang paused at the sound of Suisui pushing herself up. "To the river." Suisui tossed a smile back over her shoulder, her long hair whipping past her jacket. "There's a breeze over there. I'm suffocating in here." "But the sun is blinding—" "It won't kill me!" Her voice was already vanishing around the corner of the wall. The riverbank wasn't far, just a quick dash through two alleys. Suisui walked briskly, tapping her folding fan rhythmically against her palm. The moment she stepped onto the embankment, a cool, damp breeze greeted her, thick with the fragrance of river reeds. The docks were a bustling hive of activity. At a nearby stall, a middle-aged merchant was clacking away on an abacus, calling out numbers line by line as the beads flew. Mesmerized, Suisui stepped closer, her lips moving in a silent murmur as she mentally kept count alongside him. When the merchant snapped the final bead into place and looked up, he gasped, startled by her bright, intensely focused eyes. "Where did you spring from, little girl?" "Manager Liu, that's three hundred and twenty-seven bolts of fabric in total, right?" Suisui chimed in, ignoring his question entirely. Manager Liu looked from his ledger to her, a smile tugging beneath his mustache. "You were following my abacus?" "Didn't need to. I did the mental math while you were reading the numbers aloud." Suisui grinned, completely unfazed. "And that batch of tea leaves was one hundred and six and a half jin, wasn't it? I caught a snippet of it while walking past." Manager Liu set his abacus down and gave her an appraising look. "Well, aren't you a sharp one... Say, how about you come work in my shop?" "How much monthly pay are we talking?" The bystanders burst into laughter. Manager Liu chuckled too, tapping her playfully with his fan. "Alright, little boss, off you go. Don't cause trouble for my business." Amused, Suisui fanned herself and strolled over to the neighboring herb stall. Out of curiosity, she asked the owner why they didn't use the land routes for faster transportation. "Land routes are faster, but they're bumpy," the stall owner explained patiently. "Herbs can't take a bruising. If they get crushed into a pulp on the road, they aren't worth a copper." Suisui picked up a herb, sniffed it, and carefully set it back down. "Seven days by water, three days by land. But a bruised cargo loses more than half its value, so trading time for preservation is the smarter investment." She ran the math through her head and found the logic of trade utterly fascinating. The sun gradually dipped below the horizon, and the crowds along the riverbank began to thin. The last few cargo ships untied their moorings, their sails billowing in the evening breeze as their long shadows drifted across the gold-dusted water. Suisui sat on the stone steps and finally put her fan down. She tilted her head back, tracking the vessels as they cleared the shallows, crossed the heart of the river, and shrank into dark speckles against the edge of the sky. "Where are they heading...?" No one replied, but she already knew the answer. Those ships carried grain, fabrics, and herbs gathered from everywhere—the north, the south, the mountains, and the coasts. They would cut through great rivers and scale mountain ranges to reach places far away, places she had never been before. "One day, I'll be on one of those ships. Standing at the bow, with the shipping list in my hands." Before the darkness fully set in, Suisui stood up and brushed the dust from her skirt. The stone steps still held a lingering warmth from the afternoon sun. She turned back to look at the river one last time. Beneath the vast canopy of night, scattered lanterns dotted the dark water like stars. It was breathtakingly beautiful—a world at peace, and a life she loved with all her heart. |
| Autumn | Suisui | When autumn arrived in Mingting, the wind swept withered yellow leaves against the latticed window before tearing them away, like someone slowly turning the pages of an old book. Yangyang was leaving for Jinzhou to become an Outrider. The decision had been made half a month ago. Though the family left it unsaid, everyone kept endlessly busy, as if trying to outrun her departure. Inside the room, Suisui was helping her sister pack. The camphorwood chest had been open all day, the dried mugwort at the bottom releasing a bitter, clean scent. She shook out Yangyang's clothes one by one, folding them with care. Outside, a lone insect chirped in fits and starts, reluctant to surrender to the autumn. The sunlight carrying the camphorwood's fragrance fell gently across Suisui's hand. Looking up, her gaze rested on the central pillar of the hall. Row upon row of notches were carved into the wood, stretching from knee-height to her ear. The lowest two belonged to Yangyang at ages seven and nine, marked lightly by their father in fear of hurting his daughter. Suisui remembered Yangyang could barely stand straight back then, having to steady herself against the pillar. Yet even as a toddler, she had been exceptionally sweet, filling Suisui's heart with a silent pride: Yes, this is my little sister. Further up was Suisui's own notch from when she was fourteen, a year she had thrown a tantrum insisting on leaving home to study medicine elsewhere. Her father hadn't refused outright; he simply made her stand before this pillar for the better part of a day. Staring at the stacked markings, she had watched herself grow, inch by inch. Somehow, she realized her growth felt so fast, and yet so slow. She may have grown taller, but she still had much to learn. Near the top, Yangyang's notches grew closer together. The one from last winter, carved by Yangyang herself, was barely half a finger shorter than Suisui's. By the spring of this year, they stood at the exact same height. A scattering of birdsong drifted in from the courtyard. Suisui pushed the door open, the autumn sun striking her face with a fleeting warmth. Beneath the eaves, a blue-backed bird leaped from a branch, its wings stirring a rustle of yellow leaves. Yangyang was crossing the yard from the other end. Pausing at the steps, she saw her older sister under the veranda and walked over. Suisui offered her a soft smile. "When do you set off?" "Tomorrow morning." Suisui let out a quiet "Oh." She wanted to say more, but the words dissolved on her tongue. Instead, she reached out and gently adjusted the collar of Yangyang's cloak. Yangyang stood perfectly still, waiting. Only when Suisui pulled her hands away did Yangyang speak in a low voice: "I will come back." Suisui smiled. "Go on, then. The winds are harsh in Jinzhou. Take care of yourself." Yangyang nodded. Hearing their parents call her name, she turned to join them. She walked slowly, her back held straight, already adopting the bearing of an Outrider. Once more, Suisui was left alone. The blue-backed bird returned to its branch, chirping with its head tilted high. Withered leaves blanketed the steps. She bent down to pick one up, wondering which book she should press it into, before realizing it didn't really matter. After all, autumn always passes. Suisui rose to her feet. From beyond the courtyard walls, the distant neighing of a horse drifted in, like an echo carried from Jinzhou. She knew it was impossible, yet she stood listening for a long time before turning back to the room. The camphorwood chest was still open, waiting for her to close it. |
| Winter | Suisui | Winter in Mengzhou rarely brought snow, but that year, a soft white blanket had covered the lake in just half a day. The boatman rowed slowly, tactfully keeping silent so as not to disturb it. Suisui sat at the bow, a white porcelain pot resting on her lap. The steam rising from its spout dispersed the moment it hit the chilly air. She poured a cup for her guest, then filled her own. The faint splash of tea meeting the porcelain cup was quiet, yet it easily masked the sound of the oars cutting through the water. The negotiation was going poorly. The opposing party refused to yield, and the stalemate had dragged on for three days. That morning, Suisui had sent an invitation, suggesting they set the matter aside and meet on the lake. The guest arrived fashionably late, wrapped in a gray cloak as the sun began to dip into the west, offering only a brief nod as she boarded. The small boat drifted toward the center of the lake. A light mist rolled across the water, slowly dissolving the silhouettes of the distant mountains. In such a rare, tranquil setting, Suisui naturally set business aside. Ever sharp and eloquent, she broke the ice by speaking of her hometown. She described its waters, so clear one could count every mismatched pebble at the bottom. She spoke of her childhood, watching merchant caravans unload on the riverbank, the stacked sacks towering feet above her head while the crisp, enchanting clatter of abacus beads echoed through the air. She painted a picture of the day she left home under a drizzling rain, where the mist blurred even the faces of her parents as they saw her off. These distant stories traveled across the years aboard their swaying skiff, arriving at last upon this snow-dusted lake in Mengzhou. "For me, the more of this world I see, the more I fall in love with it," Suisui murmured. "I want good things to reach the places they belong. Grain to famine-stricken lands, medicine to the sickbed, fabrics to the impoverished. But these things won't just walk to those in need on their own. Someone has to connect the dots, and I don't want to just be a bystander." The guest didn't answer. She only rested her teacup against her knee and gazed out over the water. Suisui watched her fingers tighten and loosen against the rim of the cup, again and again, before a faint sigh finally escaped her lips. By the time the boat docked, the snow had grown heavier, falling like delicate flakes of cotton. Stepping onto the stone stairs, the guest looked back at her and finally uttered the words: "We will talk again tomorrow." Then, raising her umbrella, she vanished into the snowstorm. Watching the gray silhouette fade into the white expanse, Suisui knew the tide had turned. Suisui stood by the shore for a long time before leaving. Her lodgings lay to the east of the lake, and by the time she walked through the door, her shoes were soaked through. She knelt before the hearth to start a fire. Sparks sputtered a few times before catching, and the charcoal's warmth seeped outward, first comforting the back of her hands, then warming her face. As the snow fell silently outside the window, she leaned against the hearth, her eyelids growing heavy. In her dream, it was summer in her hometown. The sun was blindingly bright, and the air inside carried the rich fragrance of aged timber. Caravans were unloading tea bricks, dockworkers shouldered heavy sacks of salt, and the shopkeeper tossed strings of copper coins onto the counter with a rhythmic chime that sounded sweeter than any music. Barely reaching an adult's waist, little Suisui stood beneath the window of the counting house. Peeking over the ledge on her tiptoes, she was utterly transfixed, ignoring anyone who called her name as her eyes shone with brilliant focus. Back then, she didn't understand the mechanics of commerce. She only knew that the most fascinating things in the world lived within that small window frame. The merchant looked up, caught her staring, and smiled. Reaching into his brush pot, he slid an old paintbrush out through the window. Suisui reached to take it. The brush was thicker than her fingers and felt immensely heavy in her hand. Gripping it tightly, she slowly stood tall beneath the window. Suddenly, the clinking of copper coins, the jingle of mule bells, the shouting of vendors, and the rhythmic chants of the dockworkers all rushed toward her, enveloping her small frame. She smiled, her eyes crinkling into crescents, filled to the brim with overflowing joy. |
| Seasons She Walked | Suisui | Nightfall descended upon the Land of Xuanfang, the twilight sinking inch by inch across the horizon. Suisui walked along the thoroughfare, her steps clicking softly against teal stone slabs. The sky's amber afterglow bathed the street where lanterns yet to be lit swayed gently in the breeze. Shops were closing for the night. Vendors carried wooden shutter boards back and forth, their casual chatter drifting into the evening air. Suisui moved through the shifting play of light and shadow, her silhouette stretching long across the ground. The Waking Moon Festival was drawing near. Stacks of colorful silk lined the storefronts as shophands counted the bolts being carried inside. A group of children dashed past her, only to freeze at the street corner. They stared wide-eyed at a row of steaming mechanical cauldrons, swallowing hard before finally tearing themselves away with reluctant backward glances. Suisui stopped by the stall and observed for a while. The vendor was selling "Brocade Pearl Meatballs"—glistening, tender orbs garnished with green onions, lined up neatly in bamboo steamers. "One steamer of Brocade Pearl Meatballs, please." The vendor looked up, saw the young woman before him with her smiling eyes, and beamed in response. Taking the steamer, Suisui paid her tab, then slid a few extra Shell Credits across the counter. "For those children who just ran past. Please give each one a serving," she said, her voice light as she turned to leave. "No need to tell them who it's from." The vendor blinked in surprise, but by the time he looked up, her figure had already vanished into the crowd. As darkness set in, lanterns across teahouses and taverns flickered to life, spilling warm, golden light onto the pavement. Suisui stepped through the glowing patches, her hands full with the bag of warm meatballs. When the wind blew a stray lock of hair across her face, she didn't even have a spare hand to brush it away. It suddenly occurred to her that she had left her water fan behind. She chuckled, unbothered. There were few occasions that truly required her to wield it anyway. The real storm had already been weathered during the Siege of Xuanfang Hold. Everything had settled now, peaceful enough that she had the luxury to stroll the streets and watch people spend a perfectly commonplace evening. With that thought, her pace unconsciously quickened. Just past the narrow alley and over a small bridge lay her destination. Her sister was there, and so was that person. She wondered if they had already lit the lanterns, and whether they would enjoy this dish. She had walked through the spring and summer of Mingting, where her young self ran through bustling crowds with her hair flying in the wind, her heart captivated by the vibrant tapestry of the world. She had walked through the autumn and winter of Mengzhou, rowing into misty mornings to negotiate trade, and sitting alone on snowy nights to read family letters over and over by the hearth. And now, those seasons had led her to this very evening. Beneath her feet were the roads of Xuanfang. In her hands was a treat for the people she held dear. Suisui shifted the bag to her other hand and quickened her pace. The wind rushed down the long street, sending her sleeves billowing against the hazy scatter of lantern light. She squinted into the glow, but she didn't slow down. The bridge was just ahead. |
 Morning Routine | Chixia | Chixia's ancestors were migrants to Jinzhou from the Central Plains, with their later generations settling in the city ever since. The family is well-known for their deep passion and expertise in the world of spices. As the sun painted the Jinzhou skyline with its morning light, the first sign of activity would always come from Panhua's Kitchen, where plumes of smoke billow from its chimney. "Mornin', Mrs. Panhua. A bowl of handmade noodles, please. Extra numb and spicy." A loud and clear voice overshadowed the rising hustle and bustle of the city outside the kitchen, immediately capturing the attention of several children nearby, their eyes lighting up with admiration. "Miss Chixia, when are we having today's Overdash lessons?" one of the children asked eagerly. "Your students look more psyched than you are," Panhua teased as she served Chixia and the children their breakfast. "What's the hurry, I'm not even warmed up yet! Plus, ya can't work on an empty stomach," Chixia replied between mouthfuls of spicy noodles. For her, an energetic day begins with a spicy tingle to the taste buds. Chixia relished each bite of spicy chili peppers, washing them down with steaming soup. Her body glowed with warmth as the food settled in her stomach. With the last slurp of noodles, Chixia wiped her mouth in satisfaction. "Now I'm all fired up!" |
| The Famous Hero | Chixia | A saying in Huanglong goes: "One should do good deeds anonymously." Chixia, however, doesn't like that. "If we all stay anonymous, how will people know who to call for help next time they're in danger?" "A hero must shout their name loud and clear for everyone to remember!" She set this goal on her first day of aspiring to become a hero. Since childhood, Chixia has been enamored by superheroes like Speedster and Fiamma from Hero Plays. Their names invoked courage and comfort. She dreamed of making her own heroic name, one that would be remembered. Whenever she helped someone, Chixia always made sure to leave her mark, even teaching children to write down her name one stroke at a time. And just like that, her name has spread throughout Jinzhou like wildfire. Her name has become a staple in the city, with people constantly calling out "Chixia" wherever they need help. Foreign merchants, unable to speak the local language, mistook "Chixia" as a customary greeting. Since everyone is shouting it, so why not follow the trend? Despite her unwavering determination and fiery passion, Chixia still has her worries. She has been bravely battling bandits, Tacet Discords, and those suspicious figures in red on the outskirts of Jinzhou. But dangers always surface in unexpected ways, despite her efforts to protect the city. Has she truly lived up to the standards of a hero in everyone's eyes? Despite her doubts, Chixia finds solace in the smiles of those she protects. In that moment, all worries dissipate in an instant. On the other hand, the children of Jinzhou don't care about all of that. In their games of play-pretend, they have already given the hero's role to their fiery big sister Chixia. |
| Ignite the Shadows | Chixia | Jinzhou is known for its spectacular Hero Plays, and Chixia can't get enough of them. The drum beats, poised actors, and graceful water sleeve movements never fail to impress. But her favorite technique is the Kindlefire move, symbolizing Fiamma's grand entrance. A torch is lit in darkness, shooting a fiery ball into the sky and igniting surrounding candles. The audience is mesmerized by this stunning display, as the faint smell of burning wood fills the air. It was a familiar light and a familiar smell, one that always takes Chixia back to her childhood. She remembers journeying in the wild with her parents, setting up camps as they migrated to Jinzhou. At night, the wilderness was treacherous. The silent darkness swallowed everything in its path, including Chixia's small tent where she huddled for safety. In the dark, Chixia clung to her blankets and recited the hero stories mother read her before bed, hoping for Fiamma's protection against the lurking Tacet Discords. Soon, a small fire flickered in her mind. Little Chixia's gaze fixed on the tent's fabric wall, captivated as the flame grew brighter and brighter... "Look! It's Fiamma!" Jiu in the seat next to her shouted excitedly as he tugged at the corner of Chixia's shirt, bringing her attention back to the stage. And lo, the majestic Fiamma descended from the sky with a triumphant wave of his torch, causing the wicked Fluffernox to flee in a hurry. The crowd erupted in applause, with Chixia clapping the loudest of all. After returning home from the theater, Chixia readied for patrol and grabbed a plain torch before heading out. "You're still holdin' on to that doodad? I've lost count of the years you've had it. Didn't the department give you a lot of new equipment and stuff?" Chixia's mother remarked as she spooned a generous scoop of hot sauce into her stir-fry. "No worries! This one's bright enough to last another hundred years!" |
| Rooftop Encounter | Chixia | Chixia encountered Jiu during one of her nightly patrols. She was investigating a strange case where residents complained of weird noises on their roofs for several nights in a row, but whenever they went outside to check, nothing was there. Armed with a torch and shrouded in darkness, Chixia climbed the roofs. As she scanned the area, a crumpled Fiamma clipart caught her eye, hidden between roof tiles. "...?" "...Score!" As Chixia was about to crouch down for a closer look, an unexpected shadow leaped out of nowhere, giving her a startle. She quickly directed her torch toward the stranger, only to see the face of a small child. Taking advantage of Chixia's moment of confusion, the child snatched the clipart from her hand before quickly disappearing into the boundless dim of night. Chixia rushed over for a quick check, but that child was already gone without a trace. She continued her search all night until the break of dawn, when she reached a half-open window and heard a child singing, "Once I pick up the Torch Sword..." That's one of Fiamma's lines! Chixia followed, "I will eradicate that monster!" A small head poked out of the window, his bright eyes shining with the excitement of finding a fellow fan. Since they were both Fiamma admirers, it made things a lot easier. After all, a person who loves Fiamma can't be a bad person! Jiu's family had recently moved to Jinzhou, and with his parents working long hours, he and his sister were often left alone at home. His sister was timid and always worried that there was a Fluffernox on their roof. Therefore, to protect his sister, Jiu would patrol the rooftops every night. "It's a shame I never got to see Fiamma in person," Jiu said with a hint of embarrassment, "I've only heard those lines from outside the theater. I didn't get them wrong, did I?" "Not at all. You nailed it!" Chixia reassured him. "You should definitely take your sister to the theater and see how Fiamma kicks Fluffernox butts for yourselves. I guarantee you she won't be scared afterward." "I... I'll pass. Mom and dad are already having a hard time as it is..." "Here, promise me you'll stay away from the roofs from now on. It'll make my job a whole lot easier, and in return, I'll get you tickets to the plays. Deal?" "Yes, ma'am!" |
| Thunder and Flames | Chixia | Chixia's colleagues were surprised by her decision to become a Community Patroller on the day of her graduation from training. She went through a lot of trouble to finally join the Public Security Bureau, after multiple failed attempts at the entrance exam. She was also well-known for her unwavering pursuit of heroism. Many people were under the impression that Chixia was aiming at a higher position, and her choice left them scratching their heads. When asked about her decision, Chixi would simply respond with a wide smile, "I just can't leave Jinzhou. The spicy noodles, the theater, and my friends: Jiu, Qianqian, Ali..." But the real reason behind her choice was a tale too intricate for words. Only Chixia knew the depths of her decision. The spark of her dedication was ignited during her childhood, fueled by her family's torches, and intensified by the heroic images she saw in the theater. On a particularly dark and stormy night, that spark almost went out, but it was reignited to its brightest by a bolt of lightning. That day, young Chixia bravely wielded a torch, pretending to be Fiamma as she tried to scare off the bandits. But her attempts were futile as one of them picked her up and threw her next to her captive friend, Ali. Chixia opened her arms to shield Ali with her body, her eyes shut in fear. Suddenly, a deafening bolt struck, and when she timidly opened her eyes, lightning crashed down on the bandits, causing them to tumble and fall. In the midst of lightning flashes, she saw the bright badge her savior wore. Years later, Chixia finally passed the entrance exam for the Public Security Bureau, hoping to follow in those heroic footsteps. However, the enigmatic person who wielded that lightning had vanished without a trace. As time passed, she came to understand why that person must stay hidden, and why she wasn't suited to become one of them. And so, she looked at the option for "Community Patroller," the least sought-after role, and placed a resolute checkmark next to it. Though she couldn't become the lightning, there is still something she is best suited to do: to safeguard the simple yet precious everyday lives of civilians. |
 Let's be Friends! | Encore | "If you've got questions that can't be solved, no worries, just ask Encore for help! If you've got answers that feel out of grasp, no worries, just ask Encore to help! If there are places you can't reach... still, no worries, let's all shout that name together—'Encore'!" For those new to the Black Shores, please don't let the eerily beautiful Blake Bloom and the organization's unique way of doing "horticulture" throw you off. With Little Encore by your side, any doubts will be dispelled by her warm and enthusiastic greetings. She is passionate, confident, and truly genuine. This charming friend will make sure your journey is anything but dull. Just remember to fully immerse yourself in those intimate moments with Encore's Woolies — Oh! Apologies if Cosmos accidentally bumps into you, it just tends to get a little too... excited. But no need to worry, not a single scratch will be left on your beautiful face, really. Visitors from afar, please cast all your worries aside, clear your minds, and listen to Encore's captivating stories. It's safe to accept her little gifts — usually handmade by herself. But if, by chance, the gift turns out to be some sweets, or... well, food, just make sure you're ready for its "bold look." Though, truth be told, if you close your eyes while eating, you might be surprised to find it's not half bad. Encore is always a delightful companion. With her, your journey will be filled with boundless excitement and treasures. She'll take your hand and guide you through every nook and cranny of the world. Worried about Tacet Discords? Fear not. Encore isn't the average little girl who'd hide behind the adults. With a little bit of her flames, any Tacet Discords would be turned into ashes. Now, what if she accidentally sets your hair on fire? Encore assures you she'll be more careful next time! After all, changing your hairstyle every once in a while doesn't sound like a bad idea, does it? Come now, let's join Encore in the great adventure. Trust me, there's nothing in the Black Shores more enjoyable than this. Of course, you'll need to be fully prepared. Take a deep breath now, count to three, and ask yourself — Are you ready? |
| A Kid from the Theater | Encore | Encore can't quite remember how long Cosmos and Cloudy have been part of her life. It feels as if they have always been there, intertwined with her existence from the very beginning. Perhaps she met them when she was too young to remember? Anyway, her first vivid memories of these Woolies trace back to a cramped yet lively theater. Back then, a captivating play unfolded amidst enthusiastic applause and the cheers of children. Kids around her age passionately called out the hero's name, but the stage was dimly lit with tightly closed curtains. After a brief confusion, the children regained their rhythm, chanting in unison for an encore until drums sounded, and the curtains lifted, welcoming the return of the hero. Her mother—more precisely, the Wooly knight "portrayed" by her mother—graced the stage, wielding a long sword that sent the villain fleeing in defeat. The black Wooly saved the white Wooly princess, and then they had a happy ever after. For a long time, Encore associated her mother with the black Wooly knight. This brave protector of the kingdom reminded her of how her mother took care of her. Sometimes, when Encore acted up, she saw the same faked stern expression in both her mother and the Wooly knight. As a child, Encore secretly favored the cute Cloudy, a detail she never shared with Cosmos. Cloudy represented a gentle princess with a kind heart, adorned in beautiful dresses and a crown, residing in a dreamlike castle. The young Encore aspired to be a princess, longing for elegant dresses, a majestic crown, and a sumptuous bed to rest on. Free-spirited children like her didn't fret over monsters beyond the castle; it was the black Wooly's duty to keep her safe — outside the castle was the knight's battlefield. During those days, Cosmos and Cloudy were mere plushies. They were Encore's good friends, but after playtime, they would always maintain a quiet distance, lying still in a box without uttering a word. It was only when the night fell that faint whispers would emerge beside Encore's bed. Their fluffy little hands would tenderly stroke Encore's cheeks, offering comfort and freeing her from the clutches of nightmares. Don't be afraid, Encore; sweet dreams await you. Sleep well, for the adventures with the Woolies will be carefully preserved in dreams. |
| A Heroine's Return | Encore | The first time Cosmos and Cloudy spoke to Encore was at her mother's funeral. It was sudden; she still vividly remembers hearing them, as dirty soil and wilted leaves fell onto the coffin. Initially, the plushies were nestled quietly in Encore's arms, like how they always lay inside the box her mother carried for performances. However, as the funeral attendees began shoveling soil onto the coffin, Cloudy emitted an almost inaudible breath. The small episode went unnoticed by everyone except Encore. "Encore, Encore..." the plushies gradually upped their volume when they realized no one else was paying attention. Encore glanced around warily, trying to confirm no one else heard their voices. "Let's go, Encore. I'm sooo bored," Cosmos bluntly complained. Surprisingly, its voice resembled Encore's more than her mother's. "But... but Cloudy doesn't want to leave..." Cloudy whimpered. Encore struggled to discern who it sounded like—sometimes like herself, and sometimes more like her mother. Then, a brief silence followed. The cold morning wind howled through the cemetery, across the mourning crowd, carrying the sound of soil falling onto the coffin further away. "No!" Cosmos impatiently urged, "We can't wait anymore! The show's almost over!" As if it suddenly remembered something, Cloudy became anxious, "Encore, Encore! Go to the theater! Let's go to the theater!" Gazing into the distance, beyond the shadowy trees of the cemetery, Encore fixated on the theater"s worn but still eye-catching sign. She heard the laughter of children—their uninhibited joy contrasting with the somber sounds of gravel and dirt. Amidst disapproving stares of her relatives, Encore fled the cemetery and arrived at the abandoned theater. As she pushed open the door, dusty silence was disturbed. Warm spotlights glimmered on the stage, revealing a sea of flowers. Amid the flowers, her mother's once withered figure now shone brilliantly, igniting Encore's longing for the woman she loved so dearly. "Mommy..." tears shimmered in Encore's eyes as she stumbled toward the stage. But right before she could touch her mother, she was forcefully pulled into darkness. The show was over. The lights dimmed, and the curtains closed tightly. An eerie silence filled the theater, as the demons of sadness and fear crept in. Encore was trapped once again in her haunting nightmare. "Encore!" Cosmos shouted. "Encore!" Cloudy echoed. To dispel Encore's fear and help her regain courage, Cosmos and Cloudy continued to shout the very word that could bring back the show: "ENCORE." They kept trying until Encore regained her senses and joined them in shouting her own name. Moments later, the curtains lifted once more, accompanied by drum rolls. As the lights dispelled the darkness, Encore emerged onto the stage as the new leading role, welcomed by enthusiastic applause from Cosmos and Cloudy. Overwhelmed, Encore couldn't help but burst into tears. All the sadness and fear were washed away with her streaming tears. Soon, her usual smile reappeared on her face. Now, it was Encore's turn to play the brave Wooly knight. A new adventure was about to unfold. This time, she'll make sure her story has a happy ending. |
| Orphanage and Candy House | Encore | Being the great Consultant of the Black Shores as she is now, Encore still refuses to act like a grown-up girl. To her, growing up means bidding farewell to bedtime stories, a prospect she firmly rejects. The very idea of drifting into sleep with empty, dark dreams instead of the vibrant hues of wonderful tales doesn't sit well with her. Luckily, the adults in the Black Shores are happy to indulge her. However, there lies a challenge—who among the busy grown-ups can spare the time to read Encore a brief bedtime story? That's when Cloudy raises its little fluffy hand, promptly followed by the dark, fluffy hand of Cosmos. On this particular evening, Cloudy brought Encore the old story of the Candy House. "Then... then..." Cloudy's voice trailed off, growing softer. Oh no, it seemed to have forgotten the next part. Nervously, Cloudy glanced at its companion, lifting the blanket and attempting to hide itself from the intense embarrassment. "I know! I know!" Cosmos eagerly pushed Cloudy aside, standing beside Encore's bed, proudly taking over the storytelling. "Then, The Great Encore, blessed by blazing flames, defeated the big bad cat! Its dirty fur was all burnt!" "And what about the Great Encore's friends?" "Everyone was safe because of the Great Encore, of course. From then on, people lived in happiness without worrying about the big bad cat!" Encore immersed herself in the story until her eyelids succumbed to the irresistible call of sleep. She wanted to add that "Director Mama is NOT a big bad cat," but she was too tired to form a complete sentence. In the end, Cloudy and Cosmos, confused by Encore's muttered objection, joined her under the soft covers, and they all drifted into a deep sleep. In her dream, Encore found herself back at the orphanage, standing before the Candy House devoured by scorching flames. The roof melted in the inferno, and boiling syrup oozed onto the dying black cat, adding to its suffering. The creature was a grotesque symbol of its own transgressions. Encore witnessed its demise, the inevitable consequence of its wicked deeds. However, the Reaper refused to easily forgive this sinful soul soaked in innocent blood, choosing instead to torture it and revel in its reluctant confession. Agonizing screams reverberated through the forest. All creatures, once aggressive hyenas and arrogant crows, cowered in fear. In this silent place, only Encore and the dying souls endured. "It must hurt a lot..." A fiery blaze cast a glow on Encore's face as she approached the dying cat. She gently pressed her cheek against its body, using her scarred little hands to stroke its fur. The giant cat resented Encore for foiling its plan, expecting her to feel the same. After all, its evil deeds were cruel enough to earn the resentment of everyone. But why? Why did it feel nothing but warmth and sorrow from Encore's little hand? Frenzied flames danced around the Candy House, seemingly intent on devouring everything. Yet, Encore was not afraid. She leaned against the giant cat and started singing a lullaby. It's a melody the cat had heard when it was still called "Director Mama" by Encore and other children in the orphanage. It had sung this same song countless times for every one of its children. Encore kept on singing, her voice becoming hoarse, until the blazing flames went out, until the first morning glow graced the sky. She felt the warm sunlight on her fingertips, and the cat's "blessing" faded away, disappearing into the misty depths of the forest. Looking down, the once huge, ugly cat had transformed into a small kitten, curling up in Encore's arms, sleeping soundly. "Director Mama isn't a big bad cat!" Encore's sleep talk startled the night patroller passing by. "Encore has defeated the bad guys, so Mama no longer needs to be the big bad cat now!" The night patrol shook her head in resignation, amused by the girl's unruly sleeping posture. She gently tucked Encore in and continued her patrol. |
| A New Story, A New Adventure | Encore | Encore's initial impression of Aalto fell somewhere between good and bad. "A weird but fun grown-up," she remarked. The sight of someone donning sunglasses indoors intrigued her, but wearing them in a dimly lit place also struck her as peculiar. Encore couldn't quite figure out the reasoning behind it. Upon noticing the nurse guiding this weird grown-up inside, Encore hastily returned to her bed, pretending to read her storybook. "So... you're that kid from the news? The one from the orphanage..." Aalto removed his sunglasses, scrutinizing Encore with care. The idea of such a small child achieving all THAT seemed impossible to him. He recalled the headline he had glimpsed in the newspaper—"Nine-Year-Old Girl Cracks Sensational Case." While uncertain about the reliability of tabloid content, he had a mission here. Well, even THAT ONE said, "This is the decision of Tethys." And the Tethys System could never go wrong. "What a strange uncle you are. Encore doesn't know what you're talking about." Setting aside her storybook, Encore studied Aalto, mirroring his earlier scrutiny. To her, Aalto looked like a big dog, or maybe a wolf—an affable gray wolf that wouldn't bare its fangs at her. "Oh yeah, you are Encore. That's right. You're the one I'm looking for. Wait! How could you call me an uncle? Take a closer look. Do I look that old?" Aalto's distressed expression only made Encore laugh. Perhaps a bit bored from her hospital stay, she decided to make fun of this weird grown-up a little more. "Okay, let Encore take a closer look... Yup! You're still a big old guy! An uncle!" Aalto sighed in exasperation. "Aww..." He continued, "C'mon, say something nice. This is no easy task, you know? I've got to take care of the other little ones from that orphanage, too." He pleaded, knowing that being teased by a child was insignificant compared to fulfilling his duties for the Black Shores. "Anyway, back to the point. Little one, are you coming with me?" Aalto's tone shifted from lighthearted to serious, but soon reverted to his usual playfulness, "You can have as many candies as you want. Well... not too many, though. It's bad for your teeth." "That sounds suspicious," Encore replied, her bright eyes blinking with curiosity. Rather than answering Aalto's question, she picked up Cosmos and Cloudy, bringing them close to her ears. "Woolies? You got something to tell me? Hmm... Wow, really? So this weird uncle is actually a good guy? No way!" "Hey, I'll forgive you for calling me an uncle now, but what's with the 'No way'? Do I not look like the perfect good guy?" "Since Cosmos and Cloudy said you're a good guy, Encore will go with you," she said, trying to make her tone sound formal, "but Cosmos and Cloudy are coming too. They are my best friends." "Sure," Aalto agreed without hesitation. Those are just some ordinary plushies, aren't they? Aalto studied the plushies before him, trying to understand a child's perspective. It felt strange to him, but Encore seemed to truly believe that they were alive. It was an adventure, a new adventure! Encore embraced her Woolie companions with joy, spinning first with Cosmos and then with Cloudy. As she grew older, she learned to treat all her friends with equal love and care. Suddenly, a crucial question struck Encore. "What are we going to do?" "Well..." Aalto donned his sunglasses once again, replying, "To save the world, of course!" |
 The International Research Fellow | Mortefi | As the only International Research Fellow at Huaxu Academy, Mortefi raises a lot of interest from the locals. Mortefi's passion for classical music, his habit of having exquisite desserts and afternoon tea, and lastly, his almost pathological obsession over cleanliness... These details are enough to tell Mortefi's noble background. Mortefi acknowledges that his family background played a role in shaping his personality, but it was not the only factor. A theory suggests that all music has already been composed, and it is the duty of musicians to discover these melodies. Similarly, scientists spend their lives trying to understand the melodies of the universe. Mortefi draws inspiration from the precise and harmonious nature of classical music for his research. He loves sweet desserts, because after long hours of research he needs a quick energy fix to keep his brain functioning and mood pleasant. His obsession with cleanliness stems from the need for a sterile lab, leading him to detest anyone who contaminates it. Ultimately, it is his passion and dedication for scientific research that truly defines Mortefi's character. However, Mortefi's foreign identity still drew suspicion and rumors. Some claimed family connections secured his spot, others accused him of bribing officials. Mortefi ultimately proved himself with his undeniable capabilities: The fact that he developed five Tacetite weapon prototypes in under three days was enough to shut down most rumors. |
| The Art of Language | Mortefi | Despite his occasionally intimidating demeanor, Mortefi is not quick to lash out. Instead, he reserves his snarky tongue for moments of dire need, especially when colleagues encounter illogical and unreasonable clients. In these situations, Mortefi always makes sure they get a good taste of his linguistic arsenal. Mortefi's use of perplexing metaphors and literary allusions favored by the New Federation's elites, along with the latest Huanglong slang, may leave one baffled. To truly grasp the underlying messages in Mortefi's scathing words, perhaps one must experience it themselves. But then again, some mysteries might be best left unsolved. People have even compiled Mortefi's sarcastic remarks into little handy notes, carrying them around as portable ammo for unjust situations where they can't find the right words to fight back. Mortefi was momentarily speechless when he found out about this. He laughed, exasperated, "It's not that they didn't know what to say, but societal pressures and cultural norms kept them silent. As an outsider unbound by Huanglong's conventions, it just so happens I could speak on their behalf without restraint." With no social obligations or funding issues to worry about, indeed someone like Mortefi, a foreign man with an elite background, can attain such freedom. Over time, this trait somehow gained Mortefi a considerable number of followers among a group of socially inept scientists. After all, he really never hesitates to stand up for any stranger he just met. |
| The Tender Grump | Mortefi | In the eyes of his colleagues, Mortefi's laboratory is an absolutely forbidden territory. However, to the children of Jinzhou, his lab is a promised wonderland. Mortefi can turn any outrageous request into a reality with efficiency and reliability. Just provide a clear description and some sincere compliments to sweeten the deal, and your desired item will be in your hands before you know it. He may appear reluctant when the kids pester him for a new toy, and he'd even half-jokingly remark on how they are "so good at bossing me around". But despite this, he is wholeheartedly dedicated to fulfilling their every request. He is willing to go without sleep for days to bring their ideas to life. Yet he is awkwardly unwilling to let the kids know the effort he puts into their entrusted tasks. Instead, he downplays his creations as simple works completed in a few hours. In Jinzhou, Mortefi is the creative force behind 80% of popular children's toys and entertainment facilities. From the Spinning Bloop to the Swinging Loongboat and the Sabyrboar Scooter, his designs always captivate young minds. Surprisingly, he doesn't charge any patent fees for these designs. For Mortefi, it's not about money; it's about seeing the joy, wonder, and admiration in children's eyes. Or perhaps, it's a way for him to recapture his own lost childhood. On the other hand, many believed it to be a complete waste of his talent. Unfortunately, some people assumed that clear communication would be enough to control Mortefi, and some even tried to coerce him into service. But those who dared were met with clever inventions crafted solely to mock them. Witnesses claim these inventions were diabolical enough to torture like an interrogation, yet still fulfill the requested task. Those who got away swore never to get on Mortefi's bad side again in their lifetime. If there was a department in Jinzhou for devising creative punishments for criminals, Mortefi would definitely excel as its leader. |
| Shattered Crown of Prodigy | Mortefi | Mortefi's childhood was suffocating, trapped by hypocritical high society norms and neglect from his parents. Locked away in his grim study, he resorted to venting his anger on household objects. But even this small act of rebellion soon lost its appeal as his parents simply replaced the destroyed items. New and shiny, they were always neatly arranged, a constant reminder of Mortefi's futile attempts at defiance. The only moments of peace Mortefi could have were when he disassembled and rebuilt the mechanical objects. A unique form of communication between man and machine brought him much-needed tranquility: In these moments, he could trust without doubt, be himself without flattery, and no longer endure unwarranted anger. In the world of gears and cogs, there was no room for ambiguity. If a machine malfunctioned, he could simply identify and tackle the problem one step at a time. Mortefi's parents didn't scold him when they found out what he was doing; instead, they were proud. The cult of technology ran deep in the blood of every citizen in the New Federation, and his talent were recognized as a valuable asset. With their support, Mortefi gained rare resources, top-notch mentorship and access to esteemed research events. He received endless acclaim and was hailed as the country's youngest scientific prodigy. ...Until everything changed when he met a certain young man. Even to this day, Mortefi still vividly remembers that encounter at the New Federation's World Expo, when he was 17 years old. It was a masterpiece, crafted from inexpensive materials yet possessing the stability of top-grade ones. The design's apparent simplicity warrants in-depth research, with numerous papers devoted to it. While being simple and affordable, it outshone all of Mortefi's inventions in terms of practicality and usability. It was a true innovation for humanity, a stroke of genius. Mortefi stared at that young man in the crowd, who seemed to sense his gaze and looked back to meet his eyes. Surrounded by the deafening cheers and clamor, he only managed to memorize that young man's place of origin: Huanglong. |
| The "Magic" | Mortefi | Before Wutherology was formally established as a branch of modern science, Tacetite technology was once thought to be "magic". Little is known about why Mortefi left the New Federation on the day of his coming-of-age ceremony, or what exactly he went through on his way to Huanglong... And now, he is fervently obsessed with the study of Tacetite. "I have improved the Tacetite module in this turret, just a little bit. It is now capable of outputting at a hundred times the power. But be sure to follow these 100 operating rules..." "Wait, what will happen if I don't?" "The Tacetite energy will be enough to uproot this city and set it on a heavenly journey." "..." "Tsk. What is that look on your face? I am only responsible for getting you what you need and providing necessary explanations. It's up to you to decide how you'll use it." Similar cases are in their dozens, ultimately putting Huaxu Academy on one of the Directors' special attention list at the Ministry of Development. This relentless drive has fueled the rapid advances in Wutherology, but it came at a cost. In the end, even the other scholars at the academy began to worry about Mortefi, who often went several nights without sleep in pursuit of perfection. He worked tirelessly, but at this pace, he risked burning out too soon like a fire consuming itself. Mortefi often remembered his tutor's reminder: always keep in mind what you are working for. Perhaps, he thought, I am just seeking joy in communicating with the machines. If his fire were to someday burn out, he hoped to leave behind a legacy of knowledge for future generations. To make the flame burn even brighter as it lasted, further illuminating the path for those who would follow in his footsteps. With the test results he had been waiting for finally coming out, Mortefi closed his eyes and collapsed into his chair. Perhaps the real "magic" for the Academy lies in its devoted researchers, one such as Mortefi. Unconstrained by societal expectations, he works tirelessly to advance humanity's knowledge of the world. ...That being said, there will presumably be more complaints for the newly appointed Director to handle. |
 Beneath the Whispers | Changli | People who visit the City Hall lately rarely see the legendary Counselor, Changli, as they would report. Although Counselor Changli never has been a public figure, as the most trusted aide to the Jinzhou Magistrate, she is known to everyone in Jinzhou. However, there are varied and strange restless rumors about her. It is said that Counselor Changli, during her time in the capital, proposed the renovation of the Shelter Homes across Huanglong to provide a better home for the refugees who lost their homes in the Lament's aftermath; she also pushed for the reduction of commercial taxes in Jinzhou and allocate food and funds to better relieve Jinzhou from the aftermaths of the Battle Beneath the Crescent. It is said that as soon as Counselor Changli arrived at the City Hall, she effortlessly resolved two bandit forces that had been entrenched around Jinzhou for a long time. Just a conversation and an "obvious trap" were enough to make the two forces suspicious of and fight each other until neither was a threat anymore. It is said that Counselor Changli did not become a Counselor after the Sentinel chose the Jinzhou Magistrate, but she had long volunteered to come to Jinzhou, to teach the young Jinhsi, and to help her take over the power that was too heavy for a child. "Is that true? The version I heard said those were actions carried out by the previous Secretary-General, and she was only demoted to the border because she offended the power that was, right?" "Well, from what I heard, she became a direct disciple of Master Xuanmiao and was recommended by the previous Secretary-General. Her orations and debates throughout the realm have convinced all the great minds of our country. How could she be a flatterer?" "What are you talking about? I heard she is the descendant of a great hermit, and she came to Jinzhou because her family needs a voice in the power centers..." As people gossiped about her, Changli remained unfazed. When she passed by those whispering behind her back, her gaze gently but firmly silenced their words. Rumors spread like wildfire about the new Jinzhou Magistrate, chosen by the Sentinel. A young girl, seemingly not yet of age, held this powerful position. Some whispered that Changli had too much influence and sought to overthrow the current Magistrate before taking over herself. After the ceremony, Changli gave up power to Jinhsi and became her Counselor. In three years, life improved for everyone in Jinzhou, and they were grateful to the Magistrate. However, nobody knew how much Changli helped behind the scenes. Those who have met Changli all say that she always has a gentle smile, and treats everyone from generals to soldiers equally, but when she is alone, she always has a kind of awe-inspiring aura that turns potential visitors away. "Last time I met Counselor Changli at the Patrol Station, she seemed super interested in the courtyard trees, for some reason... I thought she had important duties to attend to, but she just spent a whole afternoon... watching ants..." "And then?" "Then a wanted suspect suddenly turned himself in! We were initially wary, thinking it was a trap. But when Counselor Changli appeared, the villain became visibly frightened and confessed everything, even old cases that were still unsolved. It was the biggest case of my career..." "What about Counselor Changli?" "She left at some point. We didn't even notice. Hmm, she really is an inscrutable person..." |
| Master and Minister | Changli | Before becoming Jinhsi's tutor, Changli had only met her once when she was a young girl. While in Jinzhou, Changli once heard chanting from a nearby room while walking inside the City Hall. A young girl sat amidst stacks of books, struggling to grasp theories beyond her years. "'He who can't see the cause of order or chaos shall not make law'... But how can I see the very roots of everything? How can I gain such insights?" While she chanted, the girl could not help but fall muddled. That hard-working, petite figure reminded Changli of how she used to struggle in a similarly desperate way to swallow as much knowledge as possible, trying to become an adult she wasn't. She followed the impulse to lean forward and answered the little girl's doubt. "Thank you, madam. You have enlightened me," the girl expressed her gratitude word by word, with her immature voice. After a moment of careful hesitation, she looked up again and asked, "Then, how should I become a good Magistrate, and bring order to this city?" "Why this question?" "The people of Jinzhou have long fallen victim to warfare. I want to bring them peace and prosperity." "...That is no easy task." "True, but I must try everything I can." "Peace and Prosperity"... As Changli gazed into the girl's eyes, she saw determination and strength, like little sparkles of starlight. "Very well. Then I will aid you in fulfilling your wish," she declared. Eventually, the girl became the Magistrate of Jinzhou, appointed by its Sentinel. As Jinhsi works tirelessly at City Hall, Changli remains by her side, answering questions and offering advice whenever needed. To most, heroic tales are too grand and inconsequential. They only value simple comforts like a warm meal and restful sleep as ways to improve life. "A Magistrate shouldn't get lost in bureaucracy, but rather engage with the people," Changli warned Jinhsi. "Yes, my teacher," Jinhsi obeyed. Through the traditional Jinzhou wish-making rituals, Jinhsi managed to build a connection with the citizens and worked towards a thriving, empathetic city. Changli watches as Jinhsi is crowded by excited people, whose faces are no longer covered by gloom and fatigue, but true delight and gratitude. Now that a wise governor has emerged in Jinzhou, neither the people nor the capital would doubt Jinhsi's competency. "Do as you wish, I will support you," Changli said as she sowed seeds of knowledge and lit up Jinhsi's path ahead. The torch set the sky ablaze, illuminating the future of this young girl. Despite Jinhsi's lingering childishness, she knew this girl would one day become a capable Magistrate, protecting every inch of Jinzhou. Just as her master had done for her, she would guide her student and light the way forward. |
| Lone Feather in the Alley | Changli | The owner of Yanqing Bookstore, Changqing, recently encountered two strange incidents. The first involves his business. With so many to be offered from the vast and rich land of Huanglong, items popular in Jinzhou are never there to stay. Recently, paper books have fallen out of fashion and the local bookstore has suffered. However, business has unexpectedly picked up in the past few days, and Changqing's bookstore has seen an influx of customers. Many of the customers at the bookstore appeared to be officials from the Central Court, judging by their attire. When a puzzled Changqing asked them about it, most mentioned that the Secretary-General had recommended this particular place. The Secretary-General? Although he knew there was a new Secretary-General in office, Changqing couldn't fathom why someone like him, a humble bookstore owner, would be tied to such high-ranking individuals. The second strange incident revolves around the neglected facade of Yanqing Bookstore. Under the weight of depression, it had been left unattended for too long. Even the grocer next door advised Changqing to repair the gate before it deterred potential customers. "Changqing, you should fix your gate. If it gets worse, no one will ever visit your store!" "Don't worry. Although my store may not be as fancy as those in the capital, I have the greatest collection of antique and classic texts. People will surely find out!" While he might have appeared confident, Changqing was uncertain about renovating the old store himself. He considered hiring someone during the current boom in business. The next day, he arrived at the store to find that the facade had miraculously transformed overnight. The plaque and gate were gleaming, proudly displaying "Yanqing Bookstore." A note on the counter read, "In gratitude for the bookstore owner's kindness, I took the liberty to do some renovation work as a thank you gesture." The note was not signed, but the vermilion-colored feather pattern on the paper seemed somewhat familiar. Changqing held the note and slowly sat down, falling into memory. More than decade ago, the bookstore was thriving with customers coming and going. One day, a little girl around eight or nine years old started sneaking in and spending whole afternoons reading books. Initially, Changqing didn't mind when customers read without purchasing as long as it didn't damage the books or affect business. But after several days of declining sales and fewer customers, he grew concerned. "So hot. It's too hot in here! I can't stand it anymore. Let's go somewhere else!" Despite the early autumn weather, the room was unusually sultry. Changqing wiped his forehead and searched carefully, eventually finding a little girl curled up under a bookshelf, completely engrossed in her book. In front of her, a fire was floating, heating up the whole premise as the girl was absorbed into the world of the books. This sight filled Changqing with rage. "What are you doing, kid? You're burning my store!" The girl was startled by a shout, immediately snuffing out the fire. Changqing watched as the page she held tightly turned yellow, as if it would catch fire soon. "You, you are...!" The girl hurriedly threw the book away. Her flushed face revealed a mix of panic and guilt as she surveyed the charred pages. "Sorry, it's too dark here, I just wanted to make it brighter..." As Changqing saw his beloved book being damaged, he couldn't help but remember the recent decline in sales. His face darkened as he grabbed a broom from the side of the bookshelf and prepared to strike the girl responsible. However, she was surprisingly quick for her slender frame. When Changqing pursued her out of the bookstore, all he could see was her fiery red hair disappearing in the bustling market. He stood at the gate, fuming and bewildered. "Never show your face again!" "What's wrong?" The grocer next door came out with a smile and asked, "Isn't that the little girl who can control fire?" "You know her? She almost burned down my store!" "Hey, she's a good girl, I kid you not. Helped me out a few days ago, just to get some steamed buns. It's a pity she had to walk here alone, so young and all. I heard her hometown was attacked by the TD Outbreak and no one made it. Not sure how she managed to escape..." "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" "Well, you didn't ask! But now that this happened... she probably won't come back again." The little girl disappeared down the alley, and sounds of children playing drifted over from the neighboring walls. Changqing gazed at the book lying on the ground, unsure of what to feel. |
| Radiance's Return | Changli | Business at Yanqing Bookstore had returned to normal, with a steady stream of book lovers, but the little girl who used to read quietly between the bookshelves was nowhere to be seen. To Changqing's surprise, the girl returned a week later. "This is all my money. I swear, I earned it! Sorry for the books I burned... Only you have the books I'm looking for. Please, may I..." The girl bit her lip, timidly placing the scattered Shell Credits from her hands on the counter. Her petite figure was not even as tall as the counter, so only half of her head was visible. She was on her tiptoes, her body slightly trembling, but her bright, somewhat stubborn eyes were still fixed on him, and wouldn't evade. "...Alright." After all the days, Changqing's anger had long since subsided. He waved his hand, "Go, take your money, and don't disturb my business." The girl bowed and left without a word. She kept stopping and looking back as she walked away. Changqing sighed heavily, watching her frail figure and worn-out clothes in silence. He rose, grabbed a lamp, and gave it to the girl with the store's spare key. "Take it. Don't use fire for light anymore. Come read at night when there are no customers." "..." "I'm not letting you read for free. You'll need to open the shop for me in the morning." "T-thank you, sir..." It was his first glimpse of the girl's innocent, beaming smile. After their initial encounter, the girl became a regular at Changqing Bookstore. As arranged, she would only come in the evenings and spend her time solely absorbed in reading. In the mornings, when Changqing returned, he always found the store immaculately clean and organized. During colder days, the girl also visited during daylight hours. Despite the wintry gusts outside, the room was filled with a cozy warmth. Though Changqing occasionally glanced at her reading material, he could only make out books on literature and history. The girl's calm demeanor belied her youth, only animated when lost in her books. One day, the girl vanished. Rumors spread—was she taken by Tacet Discords? Or did she succumb to injuries on her journey to the capital city? Seeing the flame pattern on the letter, Changqing felt a spark of hope. Could she still be alive? "Excuse me?" Changqing's reminiscing was interrupted by a tall, elegant lady standing at the counter. Her soft eyes and flame-colored hair, like a mythical bird's feathers, gently swayed in the wind. She placed some Shell Credits on the counter and asked with a smile, "Sir, only you have the books I'm looking for. Please, may I borrow them?" She had transformed from a delicate girl to a confident young Secretary-General, the talk of the town. As the sun rose and filled the room with morning light, the aged bookshop owner chuckled and gestured for her to continue reading. "Go on… Read it, even if you don't pay. I doubt I can force you to now." |
| The Myth-Laden Savior | Changli | Master Xuanmiao had been looking for a certain person. Young Changli accompanied her aged mentor across the landscapes of Huanglong. Though he was initially reluctant to mentor another student, the revered elder dedicated himself to passing on every ounce of wisdom to her in their limited time together. Master Xuanmiao was a devoted Weiqi player. During breaks on their weary journey, they would settle by the roadside to engage in intense matches. He utilized these moments not just for play but also as teaching opportunities for Changli, imparting wisdom on strategic thinking and power dynamics within each move. Sometimes, he would analyze an unfinished game of Weiqi with her, but he always seemed somewhat dissatisfied with her responses. It was during these times that he would mention an old friend of his, hinting at a quest to reconnect with this individual through Changli's tutelage. Despite Changli's curiosity about this mysterious person's identity and location, her mentor would simply shake his head and tell her, "The time has not yet come." On the day he felt his final moments approaching, he entrusted Changli with his Weiqi game record and his cherished journal. With solemnity, he told his devoted disciple, "In this unfinished game, you shall find the ultimate truth." And so, carrying on the legacy of Master Xuanmiao, Changli embarked on her path ahead. "...A celestial being descended, wielding the limitless might of the universe, embracing the inaugural Echo within..." "...The enigmatic figure with eyes of gold amidst swirling clouds and waning lights." "...Steadfastly by the side of Sentinel Jué, in a bond of intimate camaraderie." Following the notes in her late mentor's journal, she continued her search, uncovering traces of that enigmatic figure in various unexpected places. At times, it was the captivating tales spun by seasoned storytellers; elsewhere, it was mere slivers gleaned from ancient archives. Like a silent guardian, this person acted as a sturdy anchor in turbulent seas, leading humanity through the wreckage of past calamities towards a hopeful horizon. The subtle imprints they left behind wove an almost imperceptible yet unyielding thread that bridged vast stretches of time and history far surpassing the ordinary span of mortal lives. She had been told that the signs of that person's arrival would be impossible to miss. That said person had the power to truly change the world. However, her vision of a peaceful and prosperous world required more than mere hopeful anticipation of a savior. Understanding that achieving her dreams necessitated acquiring substantial power and influence, she embarked on a journey through diverse lands, immersing herself in wisdom, and persisting through every challenge without faltering to meet the expectations placed upon her. Upon assuming the esteemed role of Secretary-General, she at last gained entry into the revered Grand Libraries. Within the vast expanse of knowledge stored within their walls, she uncovered a pivotal revelation: a clue leading her to Jinzhou, a border city in Huanglong. From then on, everything unfolded precisely as Sentinel Jué predicted. The person she had been searching for emerged in Jinzhou and protected the city from a reviving Threnodian. The once nebulous being from ancient records and myths now solidified into a clear and distinct presence within her mind. On the day of their foretold encounter, she returned to Jinzhou from Mingting, the capital city of Huanglong. She witnessed the esteemed guest of Jinzhou waiting at the ferry port in the rain, looking uncertain. Following the prophecies of Jué, she had faith that their paths would converge at the right moment. And that awaited moment was upon her. Concealing a whirlwind of emotions behind her gaze, she advanced towards them with measured steps. Using her paper umbrella adorned with a spirit bird motif, she gently angled it to provide cover from the rain, as their eyes locked in a wordless exchange. The sole audible presence was the hushed melody of raindrops tapping against her umbrella. She smiled and softly asked, "Are you trapped here by the rain?" |
 An Improvised Afternoon at the Tavern | Brant | A crack of thunder shattered the bartender's rhythm as he shook the cocktail mixer, and the downpour that followed immediately dampened the last bit of cheer among the patrons. The tavern, now nothing more than a soggy refuge, was bereft of any tale worth telling. The bartender shook his drink slowly, the faint clink of ice barely audible. Patrons yawned incessantly as if even their drinks had lost their flavor. "Well, well... this hardly feels like a tavern, does it, friends?" A young man stepped through the door, bringing a gust of damp air and salty rainwater with him. He strode straight to the bar, swiping the empty glass from a patron nearby. "Oi! What are you—" "Shhh..." the young man interrupted, casually tossing a handful of Shell Credits into the bartender's tip jar. "Fill it to the brim, would you? It's not every day I find myself in a tavern. Surely, there's something of more... entertainment value here?" "Entertainment? You must be joking. Look outside, the rain isn't going anywhere. And don't get me started on the menu. Duller than a sack of potatoes, and twice as overpriced." "Of course, I did come in from the rain. See? My hair is practically drowning in it. But even in a storm, there are tales to be had. Like this charming little wanted poster." He deftly plucked the poster from the patron's hand. "Ah, we already talked about this. Something about the Immortal Returned, wearing a strange mask... What did he do again...?" "He and his crew ventured through fog thick with sirens, dredging up shiploads of songs from the ocean's deepest whirlpools. They rescued the Pilgrim's Sails capsized by towering waves and reclaimed stolen supplies from pirates!" "Hmm... That's not quite right, is it? You're just telling a story now!" "Ha, of course, it is a story!" He laughed, raising his glass, "Drink up, my friend, and I'll tell everyone the real tale of the Immortal Returned!" The glasses clinked. In an instant, the dreary tavern was transformed into a stage of imagination. Brant swiped the patron's hat and placed it on the bartender's head, his eyes sparkling as he presented the bartender's long-awaited rose to the woman beside him. The bartender, now donning the hat, became the ship's helmsman. The bald patron became a sailor, firing cannons at Tacet Discords from the rolling sea. The woman who received the rose burst into a spontaneous dance. With every spin of the young man's yarn, the patrons found themselves part of his intoxicating tale. The revelry ended abruptly when the door crashed open. "Now this feels like a tavern!" The leader of the intruders sneered, holding up a wanted poster. "Take him, lads. The reward is doubled this time!" "How about saving it for the next time!" With a mocking bow, the young man tossed a mask alight with violet flames into the air, vanishing in the commotion it caused. When the dust settled, the tavern was filled with colorful ribbons, balloons, and scattered gifts from the sea. The tavern's patrons picked up the scattered gifts. To their surprise, each one was a ticket to a show by the Troupe of Fools. |
| Dusk, When Fools Sing | Brant | At the close of rehearsal, crimson clouds seemed to ignite the edge of the sea. The captain called a few of the crew to set up tables and grills on the beach for dinner. Battier hauled in a bountiful catch of fish, Lavito returned with a bundle of hares from his hunt, and Roccia, with her loyal companion Pero, returned with a basket of meat they'd bought with one of the bounties earned in the name of Captain Brant. Laughing, Brant uncorked his cherished bottles of Nectarwine and passed them around. "The Carnevale is just around the corner, my friends," he declared. "After all our hard work, we deserve a celebration! In fact, we should celebrate every day!" Yes, Carnevale was drawing near, the day they had all been waiting for. It would be their moment to perform the stories of the Fools on the grand stage for all to see. For this, they had worked tirelessly. Lavito had poured his very soul into the compositions, Tina spent a whole night perfecting a single high note... Each member was giving their all for the Carnevale, driven by their unshakable faith in their captain and his words—"We'll ask the world a question at the Carnevale: What makes life sing? And we'll give them our answer. But more than that, we'll show them we're not madmen... just a merry band of Fools." Yes, just a merry band of Fools. But what, then, did being a Fool mean to the captain? As they gathered for dinner, a group of children, new recruits to the troupe, crowded around the captain. They chimed in unison, "Captain, Captain! What exactly are Fools?" The captain simply smiled in response, pulling a handful of candies from his pocket and handing them to the children. He glanced around at his crew. Battier and Lavito were deep in a heated debate, Hymer and Budd were playing rock-paper-scissors, and Tina was coaching Roccia on breathing techniques for singing. When he said nothing, one of the children mischievously popped a candy into his mouth. "Alright, alright! Now, Little Katy, I was just thinking of how to answer you!" The captain narrowed his eyes, surrendering to the sweetness of the candy before it gave him a toothache. "Here comes the answer. Listen closely, little ones!" "In this troupe, anyone who pursues freedom is a Fool! You, me, all of us!" Katy pouted slightly, "Is that it? Doesn't sound very special... What are we even trying to prove at the Carnevale?" "Nothing. We don't need to prove a thing." Brant rose to his feet, adjusting his captain's hat with a flourish. "We are there to sing and show the world who we truly are!" "And now, my fellow Fools, let's fill our stomachs!" |
| Reflections by the Campfire | Brant | Late at night, Brant sat by the campfire to organize everything needed for the performance. First came the masks. He polished each one meticulously, pausing now and then to don one and improvise a scene. Over the years, Brant had played countless roles: the unstoppable hero, the comical clown, the extravagant nobleman, the scheming courtier, and even the devout Acolyte. He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face at the thought. For him, those were hardly pleasant experiences. He despised courtiers. Acolytes, too. But on stage, he became each of them fully, burying his true self behind the mask and stepping into their lives. He respected the stage and every role he played because he knew the stage was his ocean. Once the masks were done, he turned to his costumes, carefully pressing each one. The costumes had to be immaculate under the spotlight. Not just for the role, but for the audience as well. To bring a smile to their face, respect was the first rule. So he smoothed out every crease, not allowing a single fold to remain. He knew the applause would be his ocean. Finally, he began arranging the stage props. The hero's sword, the clown's tambourine, the nobleman's family crest, the courtier's scepter, the Acolyte's scripture, and then... a small wooden box. The box his parents left for him. It bore the carving of a tern, a silent reminder of the name he had long buried. Inside, the swirling patterns of the Ammonoid fossil served as a testament to his very first adventure. It had been his loyal companion through every day and night aboard the Pilgrim's Sail as he witnessed sickness, pain, and separation. The fossil stayed with him, a reminder to never forget what he had seen. A reminder to observe life beyond the stage. A reminder to see the sincerity behind the performance. A reminder to face the self behind the mask. With great care, he put away this most important of all stage props. Because he knew that only by respecting himself could he truly make the place he stood his ocean. |
| Through the Sea Storms | Brant | Thunder roared in his ears, and torrential rain drowned out every sound but its own. This was the fiercest storm they had ever faced. Waves flung them skyward, only to slam them down mercilessly. Behind them loomed a colossal monster, its deafening roars cutting through the chaos. That night, the sea unleashed its full wrath to remind them just how insignificant their lives were in its domain. He opened his eyes, gazing into the untamed sea before him. "Give up, Fools!" The wind howled in his ear. "Look at your pitiful ship! How will you ever lead your crew to safety?" "It's over, Fools!" The sea mocked deep within his heart. "Look behind you! The beast waits, jaws wide, ready to devour you all!" "Give the order, Captain!" His troupe called, their voices steady and unwavering. "We'll follow wherever you lead!" His voice pierced the tempest, bold and unshaken. "Full speed ahead! Let's move, my friends! Tonight, we will tame this sea!" Flames burst from the mast, blazing downward to engulf the troupe's banner and the ship itself. Amidst the sea's ferocious roars, the solitary flame pressed forward. Against the flames and waves, like a daring tern, he hurled himself forward with the grapple, laughing as he leaped straight into the heart of the tempest. "Leave the beast to me!" ... The storm relented. The small ship drifted alone upon the vast sea, rocking gently. The crew stood on deck. Under their captain's command, they had weathered the storm and returned to their course. At that moment, they all began to whisper a name: "He'll be okay." "Captain…" "He'll come back, won't he?" "Really?" "I believe in him." "Brant…" "Brant!! Captain! It's Captain Brant!!!" Cheers erupted as if the curtain had been lifted again for an encore. In the golden light of the rising sun, they saw him—their Captain Brant, riding atop the colossal sea beast's head in triumphant return. "Friends, meet our new companion, Lario! We've got ourselves a new ship now!" In time, they would build their stage upon the beast's back. Later, they would also discover that Lario was no ordinary Tacet Discord, but a rare Pliosaurus Somnii. Together, they would sail across Rinascita, performing their stories for all to hear. But for now, Brant stood tall atop the beast, saluting his crew. "And this, my friend, is a perfect opening! Now, cue the applause!" "BRAVO! BRAVO!" |
| When the Carnevale Ends | Brant | The all-night revelry had finally come to an end. In Liberty Square, the confetti and streamers still glistened faintly in the early light. Passersby murmured about last night's performance, a fleeting spectacle to them. But for the performers on stage, the falling of the curtain wasn't just an ending, it marked the beginning of something new. For the first time in ages, they could walk freely through the streets of Ragunna, returning to the homes they had long left behind. When the stage lights dimmed, they cheered for themselves, for in that moment, they reclaimed the simple joy of standing on solid ground once more. But now that they were on land, what were Fools like them supposed to do? That night, the captain had heartfelt conversations with many in his troupe. Some decided to part ways, returning to families they had missed. With blessings and warm embraces, the captain wished them happiness in their new lives. Others chose to stay with the troupe, eager to seek out new horizons, and the captain welcomed their continued companionship. Then there were those who felt lost, unsure of their next step. For them, the captain offered them a break. "After all," he said with a playful grin, "once the Carnevale's over, you need time to clean up the confetti." Some were curious about the captain's own plans, and he happily shared how he spent a day in Ragunna: One morning after the Carnevale, he asked the first mate for a day off. Leaving behind the mask, costume, and even the captain's hat, he set out. First, he bought a pizza from Margherita's, then made a bet with the pigeons in the square. Later, he strolled to the Cathedral of Mercury and pointed at the statue of the Sentinel, saying, "Hey! Nobody's ever seen you!" Finally, he returned to his old home. "But I didn't go inside. After being away for so long, the house had already been sold. It's not mine anymore. I thought I'd come to say goodbye, but when I got there, I realized it wasn't needed. But I did hear the sound of a piano." "It was a piece I didn't recognize. A new family has started their life there, just as I've been walking my own path for years now. I remember how my father used to teach me the piano when I was little, telling me, "You must find the music you love." "You can play the piano, Captain?" "Sadly, no. Before I could master it, the Order handed me a ticket for the Pilgrim's Sail. But that's fine. Now, I'm learning the hurdy-gurdy with you all!" "For me, this is home. The songs we sing, the stories we tell. That's the music I've been searching for all along. There's no need to dwell on the past. Because once the confetti's swept up, it's time to prepare for the next revelry!" "So, friends, fancy exploring this big, wide world with me?" The captain extended his invitation, for his next course had long been charted. |
 Burning Inside | Lupa | Scorching. That was Lupa's earliest memory of the small village where she was born. Summers stretched on endlessly, the heat so intense that even the lake seemed to boil. But the children of Septimont hardly cared. Far away, in the city atop Capitoline Hill, the Great Agon was about to begin. The village had rarely produced a Gladiator skilled enough to enter the match, but the excitement still pulsed through the air. Even the children couldn't resist picking up weapons and staging their mock battles in celebration. Lupa was called home halfway through one of those kids' Agons. Stepping through the door, she was greeted by the same old conversation. Her parents asked if she would be willing to move to Capitoline Hill. She said yes. They asked if she would be willing to become a Gladiator since she showed signs of being a Resonator. And again, she said yes. These questions had been repeated many times, and her answers stayed the same. Yet each time, her parents seemed relieved, as if they feared she might someday refuse, even though she never had. Then the usual arguments began. Should they try to mend ties with the House of Silva, who had once turned their backs on them in their darkest hour? Or should they start over somewhere new? Whenever they spoke of that glittering city on the hill, and the House they once served, their voices would take on a tone—one caught between yearning for acceptance and fearing for rejection, just like when they spoke to Lupa about her future. Lupa sat for a while, listening. When it became clear her parents had drifted into their own quarrels again, forgetting she was even there, she quietly got up, stepped outside, and made her way back to her arena. The stifling heat inside her body seemed to cling, heavy and wet, growing larger as it loomed over her. It burned in her veins, a restless, humid anger that only grew hotter. It drove her forward, made her run faster, strike harder, and lunge at her opponent with everything she had. And it was then that she heard the gasps from the crowd. Lupa looked down and saw flames spilling from her limbs, fierce and untamed, curling to engulf her whole. |
| Up On the Hill | Lupa | Later, Lupa followed her parents to the City of Septimont. White stone walls, the crisp chime of windbells, and sculptures of heroes at every turn—the city was a dazzling spectacle. But what captivated Lupa most was the most common sight in the city, the Gladiators. Their weapons, their Echoes, the way their eyes lit up as they talked about the teams and scores... They all sent a spark through her veins. That little flame in her heart roared to life, urging her to dash straight to Colosseum Olymdos and throw herself into the thrill of battle. But that didn't happen. Instead, her parents led her to the Silva estate, where many other young hopefuls like her stood waiting. Match after grueling match, Lupa fought. Until at last, teeth gritted and spear clutched tight, she stepped over her fallen rivals into the Silva's grand hall. That was when Domina Julia singled her out from the crowd. Lupa stepped forward and found herself pinned by the Domina's sharp gaze. Those clear green eyes were like deep, fathomless wells, weighing her worth as a potential asset. Instinct made her glance back, but her parents were already gone, their figures swallowed by the shadows. They had likely received a reward generous enough to drown any guilt over abandoning their own child. However, Lupa didn't linger in sorrow. The packed schedules and the endless social obligations allowed no room for grief. Soon enough, Domina Julia thrust her debut match into the spotlight. And her voice, whatever it might have been, was lost beneath the thunder of the roaring crowd, swallowed by silence. |
| The Lone Wolf | Lupa | By the time Lupa returned to the training room, the teammate she had partnered with for the past few months was already gone. She stood there for a moment, dazed, before moving forward through the unlit room. Her Forte had gifted her with many things: fire, a sharpened sense of smell, and the ability to see in the dark. Without hesitation, Lupa made her way to a chair and sat down, settling quietly into the darkness. "Well," she thought, "the Domina or manager will send someone new soon." This farce was finally over. They had found the mole, the one leaking the team secrets, the source of the rumors. Julia wasn't one for mercy. Therefore, that former teammate who sold them out would likely be barred from setting foot on any arena of Capitoline Hill for a very long time. Over the years, as Lupa's fame grew, her teammates had come and gone. Some couldn't keep up with the way she fought. Others were dismissed simply because Julia didn't like them. A few, like her former teammate, had come with ill intent from the very start. And then there were those who... simply couldn't stand how the crowd's cheers always found her, leaving them forgotten in her shadow. Lupa had tried to say something about it, but she quickly learned that even the act of "trying to say something" could cut like blades. Maybe it was because she had never truly been in their shoes. After all, she had never tasted failure. Or maybe it was that unspoken "You'll never know what it feels like," and the fact that, when the dust settled, she was always the one who came out ahead. Eventually, Lupa learned to stay silent. After sitting there a while longer, she got up and walked over to the cabinet where the match recordings were kept. From the shelves, she pulled out one particular recording she had watched many times before. Perhaps it was a kind of self-consolation, clinging to the idea that even those without talent could still find joy in the arena, even though the Gladiator in that recording didn't last long and disappeared from the arena all too suddenly. The light from Breen the Screen cast flickering shadows across Lupa's face, leaving deep, hollowed patches of darkness behind. |
| The Nameless | Lupa | The Nameless staggered forward, passing a silent Giant of Glory. Her legs were leaden, her memories fraying at the edges. Even piecing together a complete thought was becoming a struggle. Sometimes, when Cartethyia spoke to her, she had to pause for a long while before she could muster a reply. This brief journey was likely nearing its end. Septimont, her city, the city of splendor, now drenched in the Dark Tide… The Nameless no longer knew if it could still be saved. Maybe the investigation they were clinging to was already doomed to fail. Cartethyia didn't think so, but the Nameless could no longer hold on. That nauseating sensation of the cold sea creeping up from within her was growing through her bones and blood, slowly turning her into something else. The good news was that she could feel her existence weakening. Perhaps she could simply fade away before she was completely possessed by the Dark Tide. At least then she'd spare Cartethyia that final burden. When working alongside others, the Nameless was rarely the one being looked after. Now, this helplessness gnawed at her for the first time. Cartethyia had to slow down because of her. Shame burned inside the Nameless, but there was nothing she could do except hope—yes, hope that the Righteous One Cartethyia had trusted would arrive soon. "Wish I could still be of use to my new friend here." Gritting her teeth, she braced herself against her weapon and forced another step forward. "Wish I could still do more..." The Nameless lifted her head. Above her, a hero who had once claimed glory in the history of Septimont stood tall, spear in hand, gazing down. The stone-carved face seemed to hold a silent compassion, shielding her from the dark rain falling from the sky, offering a wordless shelter to those who came after. |
| Big Little Things | Lupa | After the "story" ended, Lupa kept her promise. She whisked {PlayerName} and Cartethyia on a carefree whirlwind tour through Septimont. Only the three of them would ever know the truth, but it truly was a winding, thrilling journey worthy of being told in an epic poem. But as everything was settled and the tension finally eased, a faint, nagging worry began to stir again in Lupa's heart, a worry for {PlayerName}, her best teammate ever. She had seen {PlayerName}'s strength firsthand. Saving Septimont would have been impossible without {PlayerName}'s help. But it was precisely because {PlayerName} had once again won so naturally that Lupa felt a new kind of unease. She was no stranger to victory, and she knew better than most the double-edged nature of constant triumph. After the winning streak, a true defeat—not just a minor stumble, but a real fall—could sometimes destroy a person. True, {PlayerName} was formidable. Lupa couldn't imagine what kind of fate could bring {Male=him;Female=her} down. But if that day ever came... Yet she had no words for that. All she could do was silently talk herself into believing that she would always be there, ready to offer help. Somehow, Lupa could feel that {PlayerName} was destined for something greater, something too vast to reach or change for her. Yes, some things were big, and others were little. Saving a city was a great thing. Winning a match, a small one... ...Or maybe not. She never told {PlayerName}, but while saving the city had been a grand achievement, the short journey they had walked together had gifted her just as much. Even though for {PlayerName}, it had likely been no more than another easy victory, for Lupa, it meant a lot. When they won the semi-finals and leaned against each other for a brief moment in the waiting room, she was filled with a happiness she had never known before. It was exactly because {PlayerName} treated it as another effortless routine that hardly warranted a second thought, Lupa was able to savor that pure, unclouded joy of competition once again. In that moment, the wild, restless flame that had always howled within her finally, at long last, fell silent. |
 Day of a Hunter | Galbrena | "The demon has fallen. The children may sing once more." The Discord Slayer folded her burning wings and descended from the skies into the waiting crowd. The heat still rising from the gun at her hip betrayed that her hunt had just ended. Tacet Discords—supernatural beings born from the chaotic remnants of human frequencies and energy—were the embodiment of malice and destruction in this world. Although science had long since classified them, in many places they were still referred to as demons or vengeful spirits, with names derived from old legends and ghost stories. And across the world, there were those who hunted them. For bounty, for research, or simply to test their own strength. To face such terrifying foes with both respect and defiance, these hunters bore a title passed down through the ages—Discord Slayer. Most Discord Slayers proved their kills by extracting the monster's frequency through their Terminal, or by returning with its Tacet Core. But not her. She always came back empty-handed, offering only her word that the job was done. She would calmly recount each monster's weakness and the best way to slay it. But words alone earned no trust. And so, she raised her right hand and whispered its name… the Shrieking Legion, the Tacet Discord she harbored, emerged. The crowd had no choice but to believe. Fear thickened the air. Silence fell like a blade. She heard their murmurs, their doubts, their suspicions. She felt their hostility, but never once tried to explain herself. Some whispered she was the product of a human–TD hybrid experiment, created for the sole purpose of killing. Others believed she was forged from altered TD frequencies, a being born of sin. Still more were convinced she had struck a pact with a demon and traded her emotions away. She always nodded in agreement to that. To her, it was a convenient shield, an excuse to silence the questions she didn't want to answer. Most days, she would turn away from the stares. But sometimes, she allowed herself small indulgences. She would ignore the wary looks and take a seat at an open bar, quietly ordering a few glasses of a blueberry ice cream shake. Only the hunters who fought beside her knew the truth. Beneath her cold, distant mask burned an intense lust for the hunt. And when she faced her prey, she was merciless. The Shrieking Legion was a beast-type Tacet Discord of the forest. Born of jealousy, it mimicked human voices to lure children close before stealing their voices. She had warned the squad not to engage it on its own ground. But her youthful appearance earned no trust. They ignored her and fell into its trap. The valley walls amplified the monster's shrieks into a storm of sound that nearly broke the entire squad. But she did not hesitate. With cold resolve, she ruptured her own eardrums, blood trailing behind her as she charged forward. In the next breath, flames surged around her. She pressed her gun to the monster's chest and pulled the trigger. In the smoking silence that followed, she left only her verdict: "Your penance starts now." The crowd witnessed the monster's reckoning. With her right hand, she seized its throat, and serpentine flames engulfed it completely. The Legion released a final, distorted wail before dissolving into a sliver of essence—absorbed by her as due payment. Her own bloodied, burnt body began to regenerate with unnerving speed. For a moment, it was hard to tell... who the real demon was. But one truth was undeniable. She could have escaped alone. Instead, she stayed. And because she did, they lived. She brushed the ashes from her shoulders, conjured a handful of popsicles as if from thin air, and offered them to the trembling survivors with a casual grin. "Want one?" To her, this deadly hunt was nothing more than a mundane errand on an ordinary day. Once the sweetness of the ice cream cooled the fire still smoldering in her chest, she unfurled her wings and vanished into the skies. No one knew where she came from, or where she was going. Children called her the "Ice Cream Demon" after watching her devour three towering cups of frozen delight. The more learned saw the baleful fire that clung to her and thought instead of the legendary Flame Demon. But if one dared to gather her fallen feathers, they would discover something else. Those razor feathers sharp enough to cut Tacet Discords in two carried a strange gentleness, and... a bitterness weathered with time. Perhaps it was only natural. Such freedom, such untamed spirit, could only be born of displacement. She rarely spoke of her past. When pressed, her answers were brief, evasive. To know her story, one would have to go back a long, long time ago. Back when her hair still shimmered pale gold and her eyes still blazed with radiant light. Back before the world ever called her… "Galbrena." |
| Of a Childhood Long Gone | Galbrena | People always said Angel was born "in the embrace of light and flame." She came into the world at golden dawn, swathed in radiant fire. Her parents' Resonance Abilities were modest. In Ragunna, her birth might have been hailed as a miracle. But in Septimont, divinity held no sway. Here, only strength commanded respect. For a child, a powerful Resonance Ability early in life was not always a gift. It came with a constant risk of losing control. Young Angel clung to her parents' teachings, carefully regulating her emotions to ensure her flames never harmed others. At an age meant for laughter, she stood apart from the other children—reserved, distant, cold. Some called it arrogance. The timid avoided her, while the bold sought to provoke her, eager to test themselves against a peer so unlike themselves. Perhaps these children meant no harm. But to them, her nature, her talents, her very identity were simply too... different. Her parents were exiles from Ragunna, traveling far before settling in Septimont. Her father stepped forward to fight when monsters attacked. Her mother, even with little to spare, gave food to those with less. At a time when prejudice still lingered between the two city-states, these acts of kindness earned them a place in the town. Her mother raised her by the Codex: to be kind, compassionate, tolerant, and forgiving. Angel took such lessons to heart. But in Septimont, kindness alone never guaranteed respect. Shaped by two distinct cultures, Angel developed a creed of her own: Treat others with goodwill. Never start a fight. But if someone strikes you, strike back harder. Fortunately, bruises were common among children in Septimont. Still, Angel avoided causing her parents trouble. Over time, she learned to enjoy solitude. She found sanctuary in a smithy run by her father's friend, Uncle Filo. Few children went there, but something instinctual in her was drawn to the blazing fire, the sparks that flew, and the clear, ringing clash of hammer against iron. It was there she met a red-haired girl. With her bold, straightforward nature, that girl had many friends. She offered Angel the laughter her childhood had long lacked. They would sit by the forge and talk deep into the night about their troubles and dreams. The girl, Augusta, cared most for the stories behind each weapon, while Angel was captivated by the mysterious ritual of "quenching." Uncle Filo once explained: "Even the finest blade is just raw metal, unless it is quenched and tempered." Many things puzzled Angel, like why the winds of Septimont always carried the scent of rust. She thought it was simply the breath of the forges and bellows. Only later, as she grew older, did she learn what it truly carried. The wind came from the Plateaus: From fallen spearheads, broken swords, and... the freshly spilled blood of warriors. Sixteen years ago, the High Tide swept across the Plateaus. In Fabianum, the hunts became endless. Angel watched her parents return exhausted, saw others come back bloodied and broken, and heard the constant refrain of "strength." It was then that a vow took root in her heart. From that day on, she trained with relentless resolve. She sought out adults for combat lessons, shadowed rangers to learn the hunt, and sparred with anyone willing. Like a parched beast at a watering hole, she drank deeply from every source. All for one goal: the Initiate's Proving Grounds. The victor would receive elite Gladiator training, and with it, a faster path to becoming a true hunter. Effort bore fruit. In the arena, Angel cut through dozens of rivals until she faced the favored contender: Arkyria, famed for once fending off the Dark Tide's creations alone. Arkyria's will, tempered in life-and-death trials, forced Angel to retreat again and again. She could not let this chance to slip away... So, for the first time, she unleashed her Resonance Ability. Light erupted from Angel like fire. Blazing, but not scorching. Dazzling, but not blinding. In that instant, the tide turned. Victory was hers. She stepped forward to check on her fallen rival, only to be met by bitter words: "Why you? Why were you gifted with such power?" It was the question Angel had carried since childhood: Why me? There were others who worked harder, with more talent. Why didn't they receive this gift? If they had the same power, would they be spared pain? If she could master this power, could she help them? What if... Her thoughts were interrupted by the cries of Griffrexes overhead. They soared toward the Plateaus—where every hunt began. Yes. At the very least, she had proven she could control her power. Soon, she too would ride a Griffrex into battle, striking down evil Tidespawn to defend more people. That was her vow. Her "hunt" was about to begin. Everything was supposed to go that way. Everything did go that way. Yet fate, whether through a cruel twist of words or some long-planned deceit, finally revealed its face: What it gives, it takes. What is kind, it teaches to do harm. What is fearless, it breaks—until it kneels and never rises again. But Angel had never set foot in Tetragon Temple. She never sought to understand fate. She didn't want to. She only knew this: if someone struck her, she would strike back harder. Whether it was man, divinity, or... fate itself. |
| Angel's Ashes | Galbrena | She would never forget the first time she "devoured" a Tacet Discord. Her body's rejection tore through her, an agony that seared her insides, as if her very soul would be reduced to ash. But more unbearable than the pain was the weakness it revealed. She knew what had granted her a second chance at life, and she remembered the vow she had once sworn. But when she stood before the "true forms of evil," she understood just how powerless she truly was. So she surrendered her frequency, striking a pact with the demon that dwelled within her. That day, she set foot on a path with no return. Yet to her, this was the "hunt" she was always destined to begin: the hunting ceremony she never attended, the Sacred Flames the Priestess should have lit... Now ignited instead by the infernal blaze of "Galbrena." And so, the girl bearing fire wandered between civilization and wilderness, listening to whispers and sifting through legends. She wandered desolate ruins littered with corpses and bones, seeking only to hunt the monsters born of mankind's emotions. She once fought up on a sheer cliff and plummeted with her foe into the depths—though she had not yet learned to fly. She once battled beneath the surface of a dark lake, for her enemy feared the water—though she herself could barely swim. She had slain countless monsters, and had nearly been slain by countless more. Chimera once believed that those granted a second life would cling to it, doing anything to survive, until their will buckled under the weight and they fell into his trap. Never had Chimera imagined that he would be undone by the very bloodlust he sought. Again and again, the girl challenged foes far stronger than herself, wagering her life each time, until she became a living prison of flesh and blood that bound him. This second life had come at a cost. To live it in cowardice would make it meaningless. She did not fight merely to tame the demon inside her. She fought to wrest more power from fate itself. Yet Chimera's words were not without truth: kindness without power is the cruelest tragedy. To save, one must also learn to harm. She recalled her mother's words, "If a tree's roots cannot pierce into hell, then its branches will never reach heaven." But she had never yearned for heaven. If hell awaited her, then she would descend deeper, dragging demons down with her, forcing them to kneel before infernal fire, or consigning them to eternal ruin… Even if that inferno consumed her as well. Still, she sometimes wondered if she had already become the demon people whispered about. Could her current body... even be considered "human"? Could she truly wield darkness for good, without being devoured by it? For while she gave her kindness freely… she had done things only demons would. Once, she traveled to a remote southern town to hunt the Nameless Dreadshade. It was said that its influence had driven the townsfolk mad, making them obsessed with a "frequency exchange" technique. They butchered travelers to harvest their frequencies in pursuit of immortality. When the Dreadshade was slain, instruments shattered and the so-called immortals withered away, shrieking in insanity until their final breaths. Still unrepentant, still scheming, still thinking of how to sacrifice others for their own survival... In that moment she realized it was not the Dreadshade that had twisted them. Their own deranged desires had summoned it forth. And so, with one great blaze, she reduced that town of living hell to ashes, purging the evil at its source. That hunt taught her two truths: the demons of this world are not only Tacet Discords, and every demon is born from the human heart. Perhaps the fact that she still asked these questions meant she was still human. Or perhaps, the world had already delivered its answer. She had seen men claw and kill for the smallest profit, and others sacrifice their lives for the faintest flicker of hope. She had seen cities crumble to greed, and white blossoms bloom in the mud and rubble left behind. Human nature was a fragile and captivating paradox. Kindness and cruelty. Baseness and greatness. Always intertwined. The world was never just black or white. And it was within that endless gray that she found herself most at home. The young Discord Slayer grew accustomed to the way others treated her and to her place between worlds. Where once her fiery wings had left her bruised and bloodied, she now learned to soar with grace. By day, she circled the borderlands like a hawk in search of prey, watching the world in silence. By night, she rested alone on barren branches, guarding the ancient stars, just as they guarded her. She still remembered her vow. Once, she feared the shadows and the power they held. Later, she learned to wield that fear. And now, she had chosen to become fear itself. A being so terrifying... even demons trembled before her. |
| Skies Within | Galbrena | Sunset. Sands. Smoke. This hunting ground was no more brutal than those before it. The girl of yesterday had long hardened into a woman covered in scars. From beneath her tattered clothing radiated a killing intent so fierce that even Tacet Discords instinctively fled at her approach. And yet, even she seemed insignificant before the iron bulk of Dullahan, the headless knight who razed the land. Its arrival came without warning. Steel clashed. In that instant, Galbrena understood why she had failed to sense it. Its frequency was overwhelming, so powerful that even the Dark Tide refused to touch it. She had long since unbound Chimera, letting him loose to revel in bloodshed... But even his ferocity could only slow the knight's warhorse. Run? The thought crossed her mind more than once. But just a few hundred meters behind her, a mother and son were fleeing for their lives. Each moment she stood her ground was another moment bought for their survival. They would carry the warning onward, to the tribe in the distance, and perhaps summon reinforcements to halt Dullahan's advance before it reached the gates of civilization. For that reason, the choice was clear. This was not about victory. It was about standing, no matter the cost. She did not fear death, but she refused to fall here. Harpyia's razor wings had already been broken. Now, her only remaining weapon was "Galbrena's" dying hellfire. And on this barren battlefield, there was no hatred left to stoke her flames. "…You've always known how to keep that fire burning." A childlike voice stirred in her mind. "If Galbrena was born to feed on hatred… Then hate yourself. Hate your weakness. Hate your helplessness. Hate your hesitation… If the Flame Demon's blaze isn't enough, then burn yourself. If the Beholder claims Dullahan's armor cannot be broken, then trust your own 'eyes.'" She did not know to whom the voice belonged. But its words rang true, urging her to trust her instincts, just as she always had. Hatred and flame welled at her fingertips. Faint, but sharp enough to cut through her wounds and set her blood and body alight. Dullahan's greatsword came crashing down once more. But this time, she didn't meet it head-on. She dove straight into the hollow where its head should have been, hurling herself into its empty armor. Scorching fire swallowed her whole. But as she had guessed, this was its weakness: its inner flame was feeble compared to hers. Two fires clashed and roared inside the suit of iron. That towering body shuddered… Until, at last, silence fell. The next time she opened her eyes, she was in the arms of that mother and child. Alive? Galbrena was grateful. She lit her fingertips once more, ready to burn herself—relieved that she could still use the same trick. They stopped her quickly, reminding her that the headless knight was already gone. Later, she would hear that when reinforcements arrived, all they saw was a golden dawn blazing on the horizon. And Galbrena, collapsed alone in the sands. It wasn't until others pointed it out that she noticed her body had changed. In that pure, internal clash of fire, she had already won. Dullahan's frequency had fused into her blood and bones. The headless knight's regenerative power had healed her nearly destroyed body, erasing even her oldest scars. The Immortal Flame Demon, once only a name, now lived in truth. But Galbrena felt no warmth in this new life. All she knew was that she could use the same trick again and again, without end. Her garments, already in tatters, had been burned away. Some tried to gather the scattered white feathers from the ground, hoping to weave her new clothes from them. But she only touched the black feathers on her shoulder and said, "This will do." Perhaps Dullahan, too, had feared that radiant dawn. As for who brought it forth, she did not know. A trick of nature, perhaps? And the white feathers? Left behind by passing birds. They had nothing to do with her. Besides, black suited her far better. Not long after she set off again, Chimera stirred. "What was that voice I heard?" she asked. "That," he answered, "Was the oldest and strongest demon within you." "Even older than you?" "Of course. She's been part of your flesh and soul from the beginning. If not for her, I would've devoured you long ago. It was she who helped you defeat 'Galbrena.'" "I don't remember ever absorbing such a Tacet Discord." "Not a Tacet Discord… You truly don't know her name?" "No." "…Your ignorance never ceases to amaze me. How have you survived this long?" "Spare me your chatter. Tell me." "…Angel. Her name… is Angel." |
| A Return Long Awaited | Galbrena | She had once turned the gun upon herself, but this was not her dream. She had slain countless Tidespawn in the boundless dark. At last, spent and staggering, she collapsed atop the black waters. Once more, she found herself in the net spun by fate. "No… I can't fall here. Too much remains undone. I made a promise to {Male=him;Female=her}… I must not fall here." When her eyes opened again, Fabianum lay before her. Her rivals, her friends, her family... they all smiled warmly as they walked toward her. But was this another illusion conjured by the Threnodian? Did Leviathan believe she feared happiness? Or rather, an undeserved happiness? For how could one possessing such dark power ever be seen, accepted, and loved? Once, she might have wrestled with that question. Now, she no longer needed an answer. She only needed to remember her aim. She rose, ignited her flames, loaded the barrel, and leveled her gun at the "old friend" before her. "Hahaha! Little girl, looks like you've honed yourself into something sharp indeed." If this were a dream, Uncle Filo's laughter rang far too true. Yet when she saw the marks of the Dark Tide's corruption on them, she understood at last: those who had once given her all their frequencies, who by all rights should have become Leviathan's kindred, were still resisting Its embrace. For decades, they had refused Its so-called "gift." And for that, Leviathan had cast them into the deepest reaches of the Dark Tide, condemning them to torment without end. She fell silent. Along her journey, she had faltered. She had hesitated. Maybe, if she had only pushed harder, she might have mastered this power sooner. Might have come back earlier, might have saved more lives. Maybe... "Hunter, you've already done enough." "Live with pride, head held high. Free and unbound. That has always been our wish." "You will forever be our pride." They all answered with radiant smiles. And her mother gave voice to the question she had long carried in silence. One she had never dared, nor ever been given the chance, to ask. "But my child, you know this is not home." "Your journey must continue. Someone is still waiting for you." "Remember when we fought? Give Leviathan a taste of that! Do it for all of us! Avenge us with joy!" "Farewell, Angel. This time… may truly be forever." "Don't forget, we will always be with you." At the end, her father struck a pose, lifting his hands in a clumsy, exaggerated "V" for victory. "Foolish old man..." she laughed bitterly in her heart. But she knew the meaning it carried. No need for hugs. No looking back. It was both comfort and farewell. Their figures blurred into specks of light, pointing her toward a fleeting direction... That was why they had come. They had no strength left to give, but once again, they saved her. How laughable Leviathan's trick turned out to be. It sought to drag her down into the endless darkness of the Dark Tide, yet instead, It helped her finish a farewell she had long been denied. Fabianum faded before her eyes, crumbling and vanishing. But she was no longer that little girl. Her past held beauty, but she would not drown in it. Her heart held softness, but she would forge herself sharper still. And so, without hesitation, she turned and walked into the boundless dark. Once more, Chimera stood before her. She never expected this savage Tacet Discord to understand humanity, nor to be her friend. She only wished that, once her path was clear, he would cease causing her trouble. And for that, there was only one solution: she had to tame him. She braced for battle. Yet this time, Chimera did not strike. He only watched her in silence as she approached, burning quietly in her flames—Angel's flames. Her flames. At last, so many questions found their answers. "Can't handle such a small flame?" "An abysmal jest! Try not to die here. This is not where our hunt shall end." "We have survived worse before, haven't we?" There was no demon that could not be hunted. The Threnodian was only the strongest of them. And besides, she wasn't alone in this fight. Chimera spoke no more and stepped aside. Behind him, countless Tacet Discords she had once devoured revealed their forms. She had fought them to the death, again and again across endless dreams, seizing their power by force. But now… She walked past them without fear. A blazing road unfurled at her feet. And on either side, creatures that once struck terror into countless souls now bowed in reverence, as if escorting their master to battle. Were they bowing before a demon greater than themselves? Or before something else, something even demons feared? It no longer mattered. Her power had long surpassed theirs. She required no recognition. Only obedience. And she would wield this cursed power to hunt down greater sins—just as she had sworn in childhood, a vow unbroken unto death. For herself. For those who could never return. To ensure the tragedy of Fabianum... and that of her own suffering would not be repeated. Her hunt would never end. |
 A Thump | Mornye | Mornye had known from a very young age that she was a burden to others. Her family, most of the time, treated her with great care. Her mother quit her job to look after her at home, while her father worked long hours to pay for her endless medical bills and examinations. In those early years that still blurred at the edges, her mother would often lift her into her arms, murmur soft words, then lay her gently back onto the small bed that was hers alone. One year, on her birthday, her father even made it home while she was still awake. The three of them sat together to sing a birthday song. They wished her peace, joy, and health as she grew up. Mornye always accepted these moments quietly. She knew her mother believed she couldn't understand what was said or how they felt, and she always caught the sadness that flickered across her mother's face each time she lifted her unresponsive legs. She remembered, too, the tiny, almost imperceptible hesitation whenever they said the word "health.” But they loved her. She understood that very early on. There was only one exception. One night, the sound of an argument jolted her awake. Her father's voice was raised, and her mother sobbed through her words. The unfamiliar threat in the air frightened her so badly that she began to cry. She was certain they heard her, because their shouting paused for a heartbeat, then returned louder, sharper, pitched toward a new kind of despair. In that fragile pause, a feeling she had never known took root: she had to stop them herself. The wheelchair sat by the bed, just within reach. She clutched the rail on the edge of the bed and began to move. First her chest, that was easy. She could lean forward and close the distance. Then her stomach. She felt her insides clench against the hardwood until a dull pain bloomed, a strange sign that she was making progress. Finally, her legs. She gathered every shred of strength and forced those disobedient limbs to slide over. And then came a thump. The argument stopped at once. Silence flooded the house. The wheelchair lay overturned from the force of her fall. Numb with pain, Mornye pushed herself up with trembling arms. Something warm was trickling down from her temple, sliding over skin that was always cold to the touch. Her mother rushed in, dropped to her knees, and lifted her. She held her close, tears of exhaustion streaming down her face. |
| Silent Duty | Mornye | Mornye was always quiet, or so most of her classmates from her hometown believed. The bulky wheelchair had isolated her from the careless, chasing play of her peers from a young age. As compensation, she poured her extraordinary energy entirely into her studies, filling every crack of time with endless reading and calculation. Teachers often held her up as a model student, until they themselves began to struggle to keep pace with her mind. Among the students, whispers circulated: her father worked for one of the New Federation's more notorious corporations, and every day after school, a stern attendant would appear to wheel her away with flawless, icy precision. Mornye sat in the chair like a carefully arranged doll, silently compliant. What unsettled her peers even more was her constant refusal of goodwill. Even when teachers instructed the class to look out for her, even when other students approached with generous smiles and asked if she needed help, she would lower her head, letting her bangs veil her eyes, and gently shake her head, silently rejecting everything. A child's patience is always limited. Once the advantage of being the giver was lost, quiet exclusion grew. Soon, when she wheeled slowly down the hallway, no one approached her. They exchanged glances in silence and parted to give her chair a wide, straight path, like a school of fish dividing in a stream. Mornye had never minded those withdrawn gestures of concern. She clung to academic excellence, her one silent form of gratitude to the world, and knew that if she asked for help, whether out of genuine need or just compliance, someone would inevitably respond. But she remembered the weary look in her mother's eyes. And so, she remained silent. |
| Admission Letter | Mornye | At sixteen, Mornye received an admission letter from Startorch Academy. Her Forte had awakened even earlier, on an otherwise ordinary afternoon, when she realized she no longer needed to push the heavy wheels of her chair by hand. There was nothing particularly thrilling about it, for she had already understood the mechanics perfectly. Making them turn in her mind or in reality made little difference. Her immobilized body was still trapped atop that cumbersome metal frame. That night, as she moved herself to bed, she caught sight of the faintly glowing Tacet Mark on her thigh. It felt like a dark joke designed just for her. But the admission letter was different. Startorch Academy was widely known as the premier institution for nurturing talent across Solaris, and its parent organization, the Spacetrek Collective, represented the cutting edge of human technology. That finely printed sheet seemed to tear a crack in Mornye's narrow world, proof that even someone who could not move, even someone with a Forte she herself considered useless, could still be considered "worthy." Could someone like her truly be one of the morning stars meant to light humanity's future? She quickly completed the Preparatory Program, and her Forte was deemed most suited for the Department of Exostrider Engineering. She became the genius whispered about in the halls, the favored apprentice of her mentors, the youngest teaching assistant in the department. Yet it was never enough. She spent countless nights immersed in reports and experiments, often throwing herself into dangerous tasks that pushed her Forte to the edge of Overclocking. One night, light-headed from missing a Nutri-Pack, she wondered—if, just if—her body could one day become a cornerstone of the scientific halls she dreamed of. If so, it would be a satisfying conclusion. "It's midnight now. Aren't you going to rest?" She looked up and met a pair of golden eyes. She remembered this person. The initiator of her current project, her senior and mentor at Startorch Academy. She had always been drawn to those gold eyes, carrying a vast loneliness that Mornye had yet to understand. They regarded everyone with the same impartial calm, with no trace of the pity she was so accustomed to. "If you don't rest," that person said, voice even and steady, "you'll miss the stars." |
| The Stars | Mornye | There were no stars at Startorch Academy. Back then, the Sky Projection Array could only manage the most basic precipitation patterns, and the Spacetrek Collective, still in its early exploratory stage, had no spare resources to adorn the unfamiliar underground world with starlight. But Mornye hadn't realized that the "stars" her mentor spoke of were the ones above the frostlands. It happened during an expedition to the frostlands. Normally, no one would have thought to invite Mornye on such a mission, so when her mentor extended a hand toward her, she did not refuse. She boarded the Starward Riseway bound for the world above. To her surprise, she was treated no differently from the rest of the team. She sat quietly in the humming vehicle, analyzing in real time the data collected by its roaring machinery. Occasionally, when the transport could go no further or when there was simply something worth seeing, her mentor would lift her onto {Male=his;Female=her} back and carry her through the snow. Wind swept across the plains, cold flakes tearing at warm cheeks. The distance blurred into white, yet something vast and new seemed to unfold before her. At the end of the expedition, they arrived at the wreckage of an old machine. Sitting atop the ruins, they looked up at a sky thick with stars. "Do you like the stars?" Her mentor's voice broke the quiet. Mornye followed {Male=his;Female=her} gaze, looking up at those fragments that had traveled from light-years away. "Seeing the stars makes us curious. They make us ask what else is out there." "I think... One day, you'll all prove that the blockage in the sky isn't the end. There will come a day humanity reaches the stars." Ah. So that was it. The first thing she realized was that she and everyone else were equally small. She, her father, her mother, her classmates back home, and this person next to her. Beneath the boundless night, they were nothing more than dust drifting on a single planet. Then came the memories she had forced herself to bury. The pain of falling the first time she tried to climb the railing. The cry she choked back when her mother left home. The secretive glances in her old school, the way silently made for her passage. The unsettling calm she felt when she once imagined ending everything herself. And then, a restless yearning surged. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, a fierce tide rising so violently it felt like a defiance of something vast and incomprehensible. A cold spark ignited in her silenced chest, tearing apart the quiet she had built to survive her narrow world. Then the starlight leaned toward her. Tears spilled. Heartbeat thundered. She reached out toward the person beside her, toward the distant light stretching into infinity. "I… want to reach that future, too." |
| And Then, Another Step | Mornye | "Professor Mornye, Cody and Vance are arguing over the Helios test components this time. We probably need you to, um..." Mornye let out a barely audible sigh. Above her, the modified Starstack hummed steadily, channeling her Forte into the floating keyboard as it replied to emails about the status of the New Solar Ceremony. Her left hand adjusted ignition‑simulation parameters on another floating display, while her right worked through a sequence of elastoplastic calculations. She could manage a dozen streams of work at once, but interpersonal disputes like this would always grind her progress to a halt. The quarrel was between two fresh graduates—bright, ambitious, desperate to prove themselves. Mornye had never experienced that kind of youthful fervor firsthand. Still, the scene pulled up memories from her early days at the Research Institute. She remembered the first time she clashed with the board over her proposal to recreate a starry night's sky, and how, after finally gaining approval, a Void Storm struck. She remembered Overclocking to keep the signal tower from failing, and, of course, the moment when a falling component smashed into her legs. ...Well, maybe she wasn't so different from these young graduates after all. By the time the dispute was settled, the Sky Projection Array had already shifted into night mode. A Hover Cannon delivered her dinner—today's Nutri-Pack came in "Smoked Steak" flavor, a new addition from the Agronomy Wing. She twisted the cap open, dimmed the last floating screen, and let her gaze drift to the artificial stars outside the window. Her mentor had been gone for a long time. So much had happened since then. She had graduated and joined the Institute. Her first assignment had been to build a sky above Lahai-Roi. Her legs, rebuilt over multiple surgeries, now carried her with accustomed ease. And on the day she and her mentor last saw each other, {Male=he;Female=she} said that Lahai‑Roi was ready to continue forward on its own feet. {Male=He;Female=She} didn't belong to Lahai-Roi. That was when Mornye understood why those golden eyes held everyone at a distance. {Male=He;Female=She} was never meant to stay anywhere for long. But that was all right. Below, in the test hall, Helios cast silver light in the dark. The New Solar Ceremony—Even her mentor had never imagined this immense undertaking to awaken the Exostrider. —"I've found what I want to do now, Mentor. And… I can go further than you ever did." —"So when you return someday… will I be ready to stand beside you?" |
 On the Frostlands | Aemeath | A snowflake landed on Aemeath's nose, a cold, wet tickle. She stared at the lake for a moment, then decided against playing in the water. A while back, she had painstakingly hauled a few huge stalks of Foxtail Kelp from the water, pretending they were mighty swords. She and the Snowfluff Seals had the best battles. She was the hero, of course, and they were the villains. Granted, these gentle, docile creatures never put up much of a fight, and Aemeath always won. But that one time, she had gone too far. Pieces of kelp ended up scattered all over the cabin, leaving a dreadful mess. When that person came home and saw it, {Male=he;Female=she} just stood in the doorway, silent for a long, long time. Aemeath got a proper scolding, of course. But afterward, maybe feeling guilty for being too stern, that person soon returned with a stack of game cartridges as both apology and distraction. It worked like a charm. The video games captivated Aemeath and she promptly forgot all about her battles with the seals. Out of all of the games, her favorite was the Space Fantasy: Katya series. Getting to travel through space and save the universe? Of course! Who wouldn't want to role-play as that unflappable, charismatic, and slightly melancholic hero? One day, Aemeath pushed the door open to find that person reading on the sofa. She happily squished in beside {Male=him;Female=her} and held up a controller. "Play with me," Aemeath's whole posture shouted. That person smiled, booped her nose lightly, and agreed. Outside, winter stretched on forever. But inside, the fireplace glowed, wrapping the room in warmth and quiet peace. After playing for a while, Aemeath piped up. "Let's stop here today. Oh! Guess what? I found a secret room on the right side of the map! The password is 9072. You can play Lahai-Roi Blocks there. It's so fun!" "That's surprising," that person said. "Weren't you in a hurry to finish the quest and save the world just yesterday?" Aemeath shook her head and laughed. "I was, but not today. And if we finish the quest, the game ends. I want to play with you longer. You gotta take breaks, even when you're saving the world, right? Can't be all work and no play!" A warm hand settled on her head, gently ruffling her hair. After a brief pause, {Male=he;Female=she} said quietly, "You're right, Aemeath. I'll try." "Then… let's start now?" "Alright. Starting now." That person smiled. "Honestly, being here with you already feels like a rest. Come on, let's play Lahai-Roi Blocks. You go first." |
| The Young Ones | Aemeath | The afternoon the Voidmatter Reverse Engineering grades were released, the usual lunchtime cheer Aemeath and her friends usually had was replaced by gloom. Alara's vibrant red hair seemed to have lost some of its shine as she let out a weak groan: "Ugh... the cafeteria food doesn't even taste good anymore!" Beside her, Nova, diligently working through a bowl of some unidentifiable substance, remarked calmly, "Yes, girl. The scores do sting. But let's be real, the food here was never that great to begin with." Lynn looked utterly crushed by her results, and Celeste gently comforted her. Aemeath, on the other hand, wore a distant, absent-minded expression as she took a sip of her custom-flavored Squeezy Jelly, chatting idly with her fellow Synchronists. Suddenly, Alara turned to her. "Aemeath! How come you don't seem bothered at all?" Aemeath blinked. "Worried about what? ...Oh, the grades, you mean?" She paused, then waved a hand airily. "But everyone's scores were basically the same this time. Professor Sakya is just way too strict. It's not like we're actually that bad. Just relax." She pulled out a tissue and handed it to their group's biggest crybaby. "Here, Lynn! Dry your eyes!" Celeste handed the tissue over, exchanged a glance with the others, and said softly, "You really don't seem to care much about your future as a Synchronist." What would Aemeath usually do in moments like this? Probably crack a joke, change the topic, laugh it off. But today was that person's birthday, and thoughts of {Male=him;Female=her} filled her mind. For once, she forgot to hide her feelings from her friends. "Being a Synchronist... It's just one path," she said evenly. "Someone once told me {Male=he;Female=she} hoped I'd live a happy, carefree life. I think that matters more. My dreams aren't as grand as yours. Isn't it normal for a slacker like me to take it easy?" "Really?" her friends asked, watching her closely. Aemeath just smiled back. "Really." But that wasn't the truth. Her real dream was far too heavy, too arrogant, too absurd to be spoken aloud in calm, measured words. It grew larger every day, sinking its roots deep into her heart. Yet she refused to acknowledge it, because she had already accepted that promise. If day after day of simple happiness was enough, then she would remain happy like this forever. She would keep her word. Unless... Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as Alara pinched her cheek hard. "Ow! What was that for?" Aemeath protested, her words muffled. "You little liar," her friend grumbled. "Fine, fine. We'll stop asking... Library this afternoon? Group study session?" Aemeath nodded. "Of course!" Laughing and jostling with her friends, Aemeath drifted toward the elevator. They were all still young, in no rush to find answers just yet. In this Academy brimming with prodigies, the future stretched out before them, full of endless possibilities. |
| Only the Unseen Shall See | Aemeath | Aemeath walked up to the mirror, but no reflection appeared. After her death, the world had fallen out of step. Her Synchronist friends had once debated what made the essence of humanity. Alara said it was love, Nova believed it was memory, Celeste argued that it was the self, and Lynn declared it was faith... "No," Aemeath thought. "Humanity's essence is frequency." Given what she had become, it was the only framework that made sense. Was it her Resonance with the Exostrider that had altered her state of being? Her physical body had been torn apart in the simulation cockpit. She should be dead. Yet here she was. She no longer bothered thinking about the essence of existence, though for a digital ghost, she had all the time in the world to contemplate such things. What she understood now was far more important. When she entered the Exostrider's Reactor Drive hanging in the sky, she saw the message hidden within. "So that's how it was," she realized. The message had never been read because, from the very beginning, it had been placed where it could not be accessed. Only now, as a Synchronist resonating with the Exostrider, could she see it. The entire underground cavern relied on this "sun" for survival, so of course, the people of Lahai-Roi had never stood a chance to know. Should she feel happy? The content of the message gave her the chance to realize her grandest vision, but in a way she had never imagined. A bitter, cosmic joke. Yet this was a task only she could accomplish. "If I can help, I will. I have to." …Yes. That's how it should be. Aemeath thought of that person and quietly cheered herself on. She could be braver. More steadfast. She wasn't ready yet, but that was fine. There was still time to prepare. In that sense, fate had already done her a favor. Lost in thought, she found herself softly humming a tune. It was a pity that Fleet Snowfluff wouldn't be able to release her new song. If she had known what tomorrow would bring, she would have finished it. The mirror did not reflect her face, so Aemeath did not see her own smile. It resembled a streak of crayon dragged sideways, its color ending in a sudden, blunt end. |
| What She Fears, What She Dreads | Aemeath | There was nothing but stillness. Aemeath turned and saw it. It resembled an eye, yet she knew it was not. A black hole? Maybe that was the closest human concept. But to the one who resonated with the Exostrider, it was a different order of existence: a "phenomenon" of ceaseless, overflowing occurrence. Whatever it engulfed simply ceased to be. The Spacetrek Collective named it Voidmatter. Let it be called that. Beings of a lower dimension needed a term for it, just as humans needed to call that "eye" Aleph-1. This was not her first time meeting its so-called "gaze." Such encounters were unavoidable in her repeated journeys between Voidspace and the outside world. Over time, she had learned not to react. Until not too long ago, its gaze had always affected her. A hollowness. A quiet wish for dissolution. A sense that nothing mattered set against a silent, unanswering universe. These were the aftereffects of staring into Aleph-1 that not even death had freed her from. But now, after exploring the ruins of one of the civilizations it had devoured, she looked into that impossibly vast eye that transcended space and time and heard only her own laughter, thin and verging on hysteria. "So this is what {Male=he;Female=she} was searching for?" The laugh that escaped her was brittle. "This is… the truth?" How absurd. Every ideal and vision nurtured since childhood collapsed at once, emptied of all meaning. Aemeath was exhausted. Beneath the fatigue stirred a dull ache, followed closely by something colder. "What about {Male=him;Female=her}?" "Did {Male=he;Female=she} know?" If {Male=he;Female=she} did, Aemeath could not imagine how {Male=he;Female=she} had kept moving forward while carrying this knowledge. And if {Male=he;Female=she} didn't... then this truth could never reach {Male=him;Female=her}. It had to be buried. Shattered. Erased completely. Cold concern settled in her heart, even as it burned with a pure, clarifying rage. For the first time, she understood hatred. The illusion of the paper plane she had conjured crumpled in her fist. She let the scraps slip from her fingers and watched them drift away, dissolving into the endless void. |
| Every Unspoken Word | Aemeath | Aemeath climbed the stairs at an unhurried pace and returned to the desk. The dream had chased away any chance of returning to sleep. Not that she really needed sleep anymore. Dreams were little more than memories replayed in a different order. Tomorrow, she and {PlayerName} would stand before the Exostrider. She didn't know what would happen then, only that she wanted to be ready. Words were meaning given form. So she wanted to leave something behind—something she wished to say to {Male=him;Female=her}, yet still couldn't bring herself to speak aloud. But where to begin? She could recount everything that happened over the years: the small, forgettable moments, the joys, the losses, the trivial days and the world-shaping events. Or maybe she could complain a little. {Male=He;Female=She} had been gone for so long, and the things she wanted to share had piled up, waiting. And if none of that felt right, she could always just draw this whole road trip. Just like old times. She typed. She erased. She typed again. In the end, only a single line remained. "I know that if I look up, that star will always find me." She stored the message in one of the room's devices, leaving it for a future where it might be discovered, or never noticed at all. For now, she felt she had nothing more to ask for. {PlayerName} looked happy. That alone felt like enough. If possible, the truth could stay buried forever. As long as that person was safe and smiling, everything else was something she could smile through. She could choose to be selfish, or she could choose to be kind. But when it came to family, people always protected what mattered most. Aemeath was no exception. Does the truth even matter, in the end? All that mattered was that {PlayerName} got to live a happy life. The thought gave her pause. With a faint smile, she realized it was no different from the promise that had once bound her in the first place. The room fell into silence. Outside, snow drifted down without a sound, blanketing the world in white as it waited for spring. |
 A Gift | Denia | To those who raised her, "Denia" was merely another asset of the Fractsidus, another pawn for the Grand Architect. And "Denia," strictly speaking, isn't a real name at all. In the region where she was born, people usually say "Dasvidaniya" when parting ways, meaning "until we meet again." For human beings, a name is a parent's first gift to their children, aside from life itself. From that moment on, the child steps into the world as someone new, growing day by day, slowly adding depth and meaning to that name. The girl chose Denia as her name because it was the only gift her family had left for her. Even if that family only ever existed in some fleeting fever dream. She had scoured her birth records. She even questioned if she was not something artificially constructed. But in the end, all she ever found was a blurred image of farewell in her memory. And it's so hard to tell anything from this little piece. Whenever she brought it up with the Grand Architect, the answer was always the same: "Memories are unreliable. Let it go. It's best you don't know." Maybe the Grand Architect had a point. Once she had a chat with Nastasha about her friends' names, and learned of the blessings and stories they carry. Some were hopes for peace or joy. Others were wishes or dreams. All of them, in one way or another, pointed toward happiness. Yet when she asked what "Denia" meant, she received no clear answer. It was obvious Nastasha didn't want to talk about it, so Denia stopped asking. After a year of observing and imitating humans, she had long since mastered the arts of masking and deception. Maybe some things could never be found out. She wasn't even sure if that hazy memory was really hers. Maybe it came from the biological original she was modeled after... Maybe it was nothing more than something the Fractsidus planted in her to keep her in line. She had once overheard the Fractsidus researchers mention that while the human body replaces its cells and substances every few years, something always stays, to be refined time and again. That's what makes life so special. That's especially true for those who never find their way back... Anything that manages to stick to the memories carves deep into their souls. Even just a scent. That is why some love to watch rainstorms, while others are obsessed with an unremarkable melody. Such is the human being. Always pretending to be rational, while venting all their emotions through irrational acts. Maybe there really was a girl named Denia, once. A girl who waved goodbye to her mother. But was that girl truly her? |
| A Wasteland | Denia | Leaning against the solid, cold side of the Voidmatter Pod, bubbles and foul liquid forced their way into Denia's mouth and nose. Drip. Drip. Drip. Her senses dulled. Time seemed to stretch into forever. She felt that everything that made her was being pulled apart. Her frequency splintered into countless threads. Her body dissolved into grot, swept away into the ocean. Then she rose again, a drift of mist moving across the world from one end to the other like the wind, brushing over colorless wastelands until she reached that familiar, decaying stretch of sky. And the silent world gazed down at her, as it always had, without a word. When the Grand Architect chose Denia as the "vessel" for Aleph-1's powers, the decision went beyond mere physical and frequency compatibility. Unlike other Resonators—people shaped by rich lives and deep emotions—Denia was empty. A hollow shell. And the one thing a hollow shell feels toward themselves and the world, more than anything, is "nothingness." A quality that perfectly aligns with Aleph-1's logic of existence. And just as expected, Denia managed to embrace the power. For a split second in Voidspace, her eyes met Aleph-1's. A fleeting moment, but long enough for Voidmatter to flood her veins and organs. It granted her the power to manipulate Voidmatter particles and forged a link to Voidspace itself. At the time, she felt only a familiar silence in the void, along with the peace that came with it. But as the plan progressed, the Fractsidus noticed that the Resonance between Denia and the Voidborne Threnodian was rapidly declining. The power itself remained unchanged. Something else went wrong. The vessel meant to remain hollow... wasn't. Undoubtedly, Denia failed to reach the perfection they desired. In trying to imitate human behavior, in mimicking emotions she was never meant to feel, she had grown a fragile, aching heart. The heart of the weak. And with a heart like that, she could never truly become the incarnation of Aleph-1. As a result, the Fractsidus needed to fill this vessel with something strong enough to command the "void" and complete the final step in forging Aleph-1's Resonator. Denia had always known this day would come. Yet when that day arrived, how was she supposed to judge the life she had lived? A puppet. A twisted monster... Or simply a single drop in an ocean that no one will ever miss. Sometimes she would think of the time she spent at Startorch Academy. The girl in the crowd with the unexpected smile. The girl whose gentle laughter lingered in the memories of others. The lazy girl who was sometimes flustered. Was that girl really her? But then again, was she really not the girl? |
| A Bright Light | Denia | A smile is a convenient tool. A low-cost way to narrow the distance between you and others. Denia first met Sigrika during a group assignment. She sat in a corner of the classroom, idly twirling a strand of hair behind her ear while observing her classmates pair up. An afternoon breeze drifted through the doorway, kneading the hums of vehicles from the parking lot with the clamor from the square. On the wall, a poster for a Fleet Snowfluff fan meeting rustled with a sharp, paper snap. A hesitant voice suddenly found her, pulling her out of the little moment of comfort. "Would you like to work on the assignment with me, Denia?" Denia turned her head and saw the orange-haired girl with her hands clasped behind her back. Habitually, she tilted her head slightly, just to be sure the question was really for her, then deepened the smile on her face. "Sure, why not?" she replied. "But why me, Sigrika?" Sigrika explained that, while she knew Denia usually kept to herself, she noticed the joyful smile on Denia's face as she watched her classmates make a fuss. That made Sigrika think she must be a gentle person. The kind she'd want to be friends with. Gentle. Denia looked up the word later. After hearing the Grand Architect's explanation, she was certain that, when applied to her, the term carried a heavy sense of irony. If given the choice again, Denia might have refused the invitation. A great deal of trouble could have been avoided had they never met. Yet in that moment, she simply nodded, smiled, and told Sigrika, "Okay." Nastasha's words from a few days ago still echoed in her ears: "The truth is, it's not that most people are not afraid of death... people simply try not to think about it." Don't think. Don't See. Don't hear. Don't wonder. Denia discovered that inside Startorch Academy, something stood between the students and the concept of death, shielding them from its weight. By day, the campus was a hive of youthful energy, where something new waited to be discovered at every turn. At night, they gazed at the star charts, watching the dreams Professor Mornye painted across the sky. This sense of happiness shrouded their senses, blinding them to the harsh realities that "it" sees. But all dreams eventually end. "It" will arrive one day. At the time, Nastasha had ruffled her hair and told her, "Most kids your age don't think about things like this. You're still young. You've got a whole future ahead of you. You should be more vocal and happy, like your peers, instead of curling up in the library all day, or sitting here with a librarian like me talking about such heavy things." "Death is the ultimate question of life, Denia, but it's a bit too early for you to be solving it. First, you have to find your own path." Denia didn't really understand what Nastasha meant by those words. All she could do was visit the library less often afterwards. She didn't want to make Nastasha sad. |
| A Mob | Denia | Those close to the Grand Architect have all heard that tired story one time or another. Once upon a time, there was a fool who became a great hero by sheer accident. To save those who were suffering, {Male=he;Female=she} bore an unimaginable price, a price that was never {Male=his;Female=hers} to bear... The Overseers had their own takes on the story's hero. Some mocked {Male=him;Female=her}, some hated {Male=him;Female=her}, and some felt sorry for {Male=him;Female=her}. Others just laughed it off or barely paid attention. Yet the name the Grand Architect kept bringing up, the name that often worked wonders, was nothing more than a distant, vague lie to Denia. She didn't even know if she counted as one of "those who were suffering." She only knew that whenever she mentioned that name, the Grand Architect would respond with mocking laughter—half aimed at Denia, half at themselves. "You know, I also think {Male=he;Female=she} should be here," they'd say. "But since {Male=he;Female=she}'s not, I guess {Male=he;Female=she} isn't as all-knowing or all-powerful as you'd hope." "Such a shame, Denia. The god you needed most doesn't seem to need you." Except Denia never thought of {Male=him;Female=her} as a god. If anything, she pitied {Male=him;Female=her}. If everything the Grand Architect said was true, then the one they hailed as a savior was just another prisoner in a cage, left abandoned in this world. A person who bleeds. Who grieves. Who dies. And that was exactly why there was one thing neither the Grand Architect nor that person seemed to understand: she would have stood before the Keystone anyway. Even without the Grand Architect's order. Because Denia couldn't find an answer. If people who chase ideals always end up paying a heavier price, doesn't that mean the ideal itself is flawed? After all, in places that the person cannot see, there are always those who survive by more "elegant" rules. Exploitation. Betrayal. They enjoy the world {Male=he;Female=she} has sacrificed to protect, all while mocking the ones who throw themselves into the storm. Why does the world always show its teeth to the kind souls? Why are those who put a price on everything the ones who endure? And if {Male=he;Female=she} could so easily let go of {Male=his;Female=her} own past, why would {Male=he;Female=she} ever give up the little happiness {Male=he;Female=she}'d fought to grasp, just to face something as absurd and horrible as Aleph-1 for everyone else's sake? To protect them? But who would ever understand that? What would happen when that person fell? If the Spacetrek Collective's plans could already save the majority... then what was that person struggling to achieve after all? Most of the time, the thoughts Denia kept buried under layers of masks were simple. She just thought that between that person, this world, and herself, at least one of them had to be wrong. |
| A Lie | Denia | Denia's consciousness kept falling, down through the endless dark. Absorbing the final fragment of Aleph-1 into her Tacet Mark had pushed her physical form past its limit. The Voidmatter overwhelmed her once more, just as it had countless times before. Her senses dulled. Time seemed to stretch into forever. Funny how the ending mirrored the beginning. Everything fit nicely, enough to form a perfect circle. But unlike the first time she'd found herself here, Denia realized she had somehow stopped trembling. Her breathing steadied, and the dread that once tightened her chest had vanished. When that gaze met hers again, she slowly reached out a hand toward the hollow eye. Then, the same hand reaching for something clenched into a fist. She raised her index and middle fingers, pointed them right at the center of that pupil, like she was taking aim. She saw it now. How laughable Aleph-1 really was. A god born of a meaningless world naturally possesses nothing at all. Driven by the instincts of the void, it craved everything. Still, no matter how much it consumed, how much it destroyed, it remained as it was—alone in a world of eternal silence, forever thirsting, never satisfied, leaving nothing behind. And the solid ground for her mockery? A heart of her own. The very thing that set her apart from Aleph-1. Even if that heart was small, fragile, and nothing much in the grand stretch of time. Yet this "meaningless" heart had allowed her to harbor expectations for tomorrow. Just like anyone else. There would always be those willing to live for a lie. As a certain annoying friend once said: The heart defines who we are. And with it, one gains the right to choose. Much like how humans celebrate the day they were born, a day that marks their escape from the void with a fleeting memory and a transient shape. From that day on, they could feel the world. Feel joy. Reach out to others. And because of all that, they could create something the void could never. Denia closed her eyes. She pictured her friends across the lands of Solaris. Sigrika, chasing birds through a sunset field. Nastasha, bent over old books in the library. And the wanderer she'd once tricked, packing up again for another long journey, somewhere far, far away. The thought almost made her smile. She wanted to borrow that person's tone for a second and say the words with the same serious face: "I hope they're all happy. Joyful. Free. I hope every one of their wishes comes true." But the words caught in her throat. Too dramatic, she thought. So she let it go. Maybe this was enough. Not many things in this world had ever really belonged to Denia. But now, at least, she wasn't a vessel. Not a sample. Not a pawn. The void didn't own her anymore. Neither did the orders. Neither did the lies. She just offered up the wish, quietly. From now on, she'd be right there beside them. Never leaving. Denia had found her own path. —— Bang. Now that could be the sound of a good joke being cracked. The endless dark actually had an end. Somewhere in the gloom, someone let out a soft sigh, as if they had been waiting for a long time. |
 "Dogs of War" | Calcharo | Calcharo "the Vicious" was once one of the Exiles in the New Federation's Lawless Zone. He has long mastered all kinds of insidious strategies to survive. Nowadays, he has grown even more ruthless for his mercenary: Poisoning, assassination, bribery, kidnapping, bombs... He'd do whatever he found necessary to get the job done. Rumors of Calcharo's impossible feats circulated endlessly. Some spoke of him staying in the desert for 7 days without water for a planned ambush, others of him donning bombs all over his body during a past negotiation. There were even whispers of him hiring killers to fake his assassination in a scheme to garner trust. While potentially exaggerated, the rumors were not entirely unfathomable to those who knew Calcharo personally. However, the stories became even more outlandish as time passed... "He single-handedly stopped a truck at 12; when he turned 15, his Forte made the whole New Federation shudder in fear. He even fought the entire country's cops at 18 and left unscathed..." "His chest is home to the dead spirits, and his forehead bears curses of the gods. Beneath his feet strikes thunder, and out of his eyes shoots flames. His rage will never be quenched until heaven burns down..." "He has been to hell and back, time and time again... He will always come as a lightning, a phantom, and reclaim everything he deserves..." The latest rumors about Calcharo have become one of the go-to topics among the mercenary members when off-duty. But the man himself seems unfazed... He's either desensitized already or scheming to capitalize on the rumors. In the Lawless Zone, friends can become enemies in an instant—as common as changing air currents. Change is constant, even in the most unexpected places. What once seemed harmful can instantly become a useful tool. It all depends on how we choose to use it. Rumors sow prejudices. Prejudices grow into misconceptions. Misconceptions produce misjudgments. And in a cut-throat game, misjudgment of enemy strength is always a bane. |
| Quid Pro Quo | Calcharo | Calcharo started from scratch but made his reputation in only a few short years. His success stemmed from two factors: One, he was willing to take on dangerous but lucrative jobs others didn't dare to tackle. Two, he had a flexible moral code that allowed him to work with all types of people. He took the cash, he did the job. He promised, he delivered. From armed protection to disposal of hazardous materials, he always got the job done flawlessly. But if his clients reneged on their end, they were in for a lifetime of being hunted by Calcharo. Such "impartiality" earned him fear and acquiescence from other powers in the area. Calcharo sees business as a mere exchange of values, where no job is too immoral, and no secrets are kept. Every transaction is fair game. Nevertheless, value is not always weighed in terms of money. When faced with desperate, impoverished people begging for help, Calcharo would charge a symbolic fee of one Shell Credit in his own name. The grateful beneficiaries were unaware that this gift became their binding contract with Calcharo, and favors are never easy to repay. Never accept a deal that brings no benefits. That's Calcharo's core principle. This approach allowed Calcharo to cultivate many eyes and ears among the common folk, creating a formidable intelligence network that spans all walks of life. Venal, merciless, and vengeful—these are just some of the words others used to describe Calcharo. Yet even his critics admit that his network has prevented much unnecessary bloodshed. No one can be sure if a lady selling street food in an alley is one of Calcharo's informants. Any bully aiming to harm the common people must consider that before acting. |
| Beast Instict | Calcharo | Many Exiles were blocked from finding legitimate work in the New Federation, facing endless discrimination and prejudice. They resorted to building camps in the country's outskirts, and the place where they gathered became the "Lawless Zone". To better survive, Exiles in the Lawless Zone formed various gangs. Back then, a gang named the "Underdogs" quickly rose to fame. The first members of the Underdogs were just a bunch of children around the age of 12. As children, they were bullied and ousted, until one fearless boy united them. He observed those who were bullied and invited them to join. With strategic planning and unwavering bravery, the Underdogs gained notoriety among rival gangs. In this gang, there was no hierarchy or politics—only a primal need for survival and freedom. However, the members died one after another: murdered by rivaling gangs, betrayed by those they trusted, or trapped by deceitful patrons. Time showed them no mercy in the Lawless Zone. It was every man for himself. In the end, the leader boy decided to take fate into his own hands once again, risking it all in a daring gamble for power. ... Years later, the New Federation waged war against "the Underdogs," the last gang in the Lawless Zone. In a sudden twist, a new mercenary group known as "Ghost Hounds" annexed the "Underdogs" overnight and put an end to the chaos. Only then did people discover that the mercenary group's leader shared a name with the former head boy of the "Underdogs." He had returned in a horrific figure, almost like a ghost. He was surrounded by shadowy thorns, and accompanied by fearsome phantoms. This time, he would reach the top of the ladder, and finish what he once failed to accomplish due to naivety, sympathy, and indecisiveness. But despite all the time that had passed, he couldn't shake off the memory of that one afternoon. The sun was shining down on them as they established the Underdog in a desolate dump site. It was a rare moment of tenderness in his life. |
| Let Sleeping Dogs Lie | Calcharo | "Always count your ammo, check your weapons, wear your protective gears, and make sure your Terminals are online..." Though fully aware of the inherent danger in their profession, Calcharo still finds himself going over safety reminders before missions, or silently observing his team as they take on quests or report back. It's a fatherly instinct he can't shake, always worrying about their well-being despite the inevitable bloodshed. To ensure their safety, Calcharo made a set of rules: "Team formation is free, but members must be informed and not coerced." "Job details must be kept secret to external parties." "Observe local laws and regulations." "Betrayal is forbidden, punishable by execution." ... Behind the rules lies Calcharo's deep care for his group. Calcharo has always known that the abyss looks back. Staying in this kill-or-be-killed business is never the best solution. Therefore, Calcharo decided to keep a low profile and start looking for legal business ventures. However, his caution drew threats as some new rivals attempted to replace Ghost Hounds. In an act of provocation, they severely injured a Ghost Hound recruit, breaking one of the "unstated rules" of the underworld. The group thought they had gotten away with their actions against Calcharo, but the following day they were wiped out from the surface of the planet. The incident was dismissed as an accidental fire. No one spoke out, though everyone knew the truth. Barking dogs do not bite, but if you cross the sleeping dog's line, it will be too late to run when it wakes and shows its teeth. |
| Domestication | Calcharo | When in Huanglong, you have to do as the Huanglong people do. Because of reasons unspecified, Calcharo stumbled upon Jiyan's troops inside the borders of Huanglong. As a seasoned mercenary, Calcharo recognized the strategic value of Jinzhou and the threats it faced. He then proposed a deal: He would assist the Midnight Rangers in their "war" against Tacet Discords, and in return, Jinzhou would collaborate with him. After careful consideration, Jiyan accepted this mutually beneficial deal. Jiyan advised against Calcharo wearing his previous uniform while in Jinzhou city. Instead, he suggested adapting his attire to blend in and potentially stay for a long time due to the situation. Following diplomatic etiquette and for practicality's sake, Calcharo followed Jiyan's advice and adopted Huanglong colloquialisms and attire. While his new combat uniform was functional and flexible, the decorative ribbons and patterns perplexed him. Likewise, the Jinzhou people's unwarranted kindness left him bewildered. Familiar with human cruelty, Calcharo could not help but suspect that this was all part of Jiyan's secret plot against him. But Jiyan simply assured him that he'd become used to it. Now, as the deal progressed, Calcharo has grown comfortable with the culture shock the Huanglong people brought him. On the Loong-rising Day, one of the most celebrated festivals in Huanglong, Calcharo sat on a roof alone, watching over this "defenseless" city. People danced in costumes of Lions and Loongs. The air was filled with joy and festivity. Despite having endured countless battles and sacrifices, they still tried to live every day to the fullest. These people showed him how grief is not the only way to honor the fallen. Celebrating life is another powerful way to say goodbye. It wouldn't be bad to permanently base the Ghost Hounds in this city, Calcharo thought. Then something unusual interrupted his mulling. Clouds were gathering, and thunder was crackling... Those were the omens of a forming Tacet Field. If he and his people were to eventually go live under the sun one day, then his mission was to dispel the darkness, as much as he could, before that shift eventually happened. Calcharo unsheathed his blade and walked into the dark night. Behind him, the city's lights glimmered with liveliness and prosperity. |
 Scarlet in the Shadows | Yinlin | The Patrollers, dressed in a unified uniform, are well-known among the residents of Jinzhou. Their duty involves upholding law and order while ensuring the safety of individuals and their possessions. However, there are also select Patrollers who are not able to don uniforms. They are not permitted to easily disclose their identities. These individuals, known as Secret Agents, work covertly to infiltrate criminal organizations, gather proof of criminal activities, or prevent unlawful behaviors, all while maintaining their anonymity. Instead of dealing with minor theft, they frequently confront dangerous and malevolent criminals, and if their identities are exposed, it often leads to failed missions or even loss of life. ... "Who in their right mind would want to be a Secret Agent?" the Exile Leader exclaimed, punctuating his words with a sharp stab of a dagger into the broken table. Everyone around burst into raucous laughter in the dim warehouse. "Any moles from the Patrollers here? Speak up now and I'll save myself a seat at the celebration party." The group laughed again, though they couldn't help stealing a couple glances at each other. "According to our intel, a convoy will depart from Jinchou tonight with valuable cargo. Thanks to the rumors we spread, the shipper didn't work with Lollo Logistics." "Great job, Ming," the leader patted his sleazy-looking companion on the shoulder, who smirked in response. "Still, he hired a group of Resonators as bodyguards…" "Don't worry about it. Hey newcomer, your turn is coming up soon." The leader turned his attention to a corner, where a woman with striking scarlett hair and a subtle grin on her face sat. "Boss... I've been meaning to ask, can this chick really hold her own in a fight? I'd hate for our crew to get taken down by someone who looks like they couldn't even beat me." Ming's lips curled into a sly grin as he reached for the woman's arm. But just as his fingers were about to touch her smooth skin, he suddenly froze. "W-What's happening? You wretched woman! What have you done to me?" The Exile Boss scowled and waved his hand in frustration, noticing the glowing threads of lightning enveloping Ming. "Leave him be, for my sake. All he has left is his sharp tongue. Save your games for later." The woman calmly brushed her hair and the threads of lightning disappeared from Ming's body. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. Come on boys, it's time to make it big!" ... Some time later… Ming lay on the ground, powerless and stunned as the convoy they were supposed to attack passed by in the distance. Memories of the events from earlier that day flooded his mind. (It's the same paralyzing feeling… That woman! She's the mole!) As he struggled to get up and warn his team, he saw a horrifying puppet looming over him, causing him to let out a blood-curdling scream. Before he could even process what was happening, a sudden flash of lightning drowned out his cries. |
| The Puppet Show | Yinlin | In the bustling city of Jinzhou, a tall man in a hooded cloak walked through the crowded streets with a young boy in tow. They appeared to be a father and son enjoying a holiday outing, but observant onlookers could sense the fear hidden behind the boy’s facade. "Yes, his beloved grandson is now in our hands... Once we send him out of Jinzhou, no one will find him." The man stared at the little boy beside him as he talked through the contact, signaling him not to mess around. With this boy and his grandpa around, even the Patrollers in Jinzhou gotta watch out for us a bit... Let’s get in touch after I leave the city." As they approached the city gate with lax security, it was clear that the child’s grandpa had not reported the kidnapping — likely because he was also an outlaw himself. The cloaked man hurried through many alleyways, but had to stop abruptly when he bumped into something. A woman dressed in vibrant attire with long scarlet hair, was performing a puppet show. Her captivating act drew a crowd of children and their parents. The flying puppets seemed so lifelike that all the children couldn’t take their eyes off them, including the young boy in his grasp. The puppet show drew in a large crowd of children, making it difficult for him to maneuver through. But he didn’t have to rush, as the performance was coming to an end. As expected, the woman with crimson hair took an elegant bow, amidst thundering applause and her puppet waving goodbye. Taking advantage of the break, he motioned for the boy to follow as they slipped through the bustling crowd. "Alright everyone, who wants to join me for the next show? Raise your hand!" Suddenly, the red-headed puppeteer asked with a dazzling smile, scanning the children in the audience. Almost all hands shot up in excitement. "Yes, you in the back with your father. Come on down!" All eyes turned to the little boy with his hooded "father", both surprised to be chosen. "Me...? Is she pointing at me?" The little boy looked up at the man with a mixture of excitement and fear. After some hesitation, the man made their way to the front. "I’m sorry, but we’re in a hurry..." "It’s alright, it will be done soon... Will you join us too, mister?" "Me...? I’ll pass..." The man instinctively refused, but he failed to notice how the little boy had already wriggled free from his grasp. He went to grab the boy, but only grabbed a weird puppet instead. In that instant, a strong electric current knocked him unconscious. ... ... "Boss! Bad news!" A rough-looking man burst into the old mansion, shouting loudly. "Idiot! Can’t you see I’m already annoyed?" Startled, the elder man in the center of the hall scolded him for his rudeness. Stressed and worried about his kidnapped grandson, he lost his usual calm demeanor and angrily threw his teacup at the intruder in frustration. "It’s that woman, that redhead woman returned... She had come back with our young master!" "What?" Before the old man could fully comprehend, the woman in question walked inside, accompanied by a young boy — his kidnapped grandson. She was none other than the puppeteer who had just performed in the alleyway. "Grandpa!" At the sight of the old man, the boy burst into tears and ran towards him, seeking refuge in his embrace. The old man was both surprised and delighted. "Oh, my sweet child...! Are you hurt? How did you make it?" The boy shook his head to indicate that he was not hurt, and then pointed to the red-haired woman not far away. "This lady brought me back from the bad guys!" "Why are you here? A spy for the Patrollers, yet you want to help me?" The redhead woman only gestured to her puppet, which revealed a hooded man, captured. "I’m only after them, they happen to be your enemy. I’m just using you," she said nonchalantly. "But your grandson is innocent." She scanned the crowd of gangsters filling the hall, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Or do you really believe you can thwart me, the infamous mole, with your little crew?" The old man closed his eyes and sighed, signaling for his men to lower their weapons. "Get out of here and don’t show your face again." With graceful poise, the woman exited. The old man sighed once more and let out a bitter laugh. "Grandpa, what are you laughing about?" "She's always in and out as if she knew I won't stop her, talking about we aren't the target 'yet'... Sounds like I'm never off the hook." As he gazed at his grandson’s cherubic face, the old man silently lost himself in thoughts. |
| Names Born From Ashes | Yinlin | "I regret to inform you that 'Sparrow' and 'Canary' have been confirmed deceased. Their identities were compromised and the criminal organization took swift action." "That can't be true! How could they..." The young man's anger caused him to knock over a bottle, startling the baby in the cradle. He quickly scooped her up. "Speaking of which, they left behind a child who is also a Resonator. This could complicate matters... It seems she will be in your care from now on. But since you're currently suspended from work, you'll have plenty of time for her." "I will take care of her. It's none of your business to worry about." "Your mentor was investigating something before. Do you know about it?" "I don't have any information about that..." The young man knew the real question was about the mole in the Public Security Bureau, who might just be behind this dubious meeting tonight... He couldn't afford to say a single word. "Our investigators will come to this house tomorrow for further investigation. Please cooperate." He couldn't stop them, especially with a baby in tow. "Tomorrow then. I'll pack tonight and find a new place to move to. Is that okay?" "Of course, feel free to use this opportunity for a fresh start." The young man pretended to pack while secretly noticing the suspicious glint in the Patroller's eyes. ... ... Amidst the roaring flames, a young man held tightly to the baby in his arms. The child remained calm, gazing blankly as people rushed past them. As a stranger approached, the young man lowered his hood and hid the baby deeper into his coat. Failing to notice him, the stranger passed by and disappeared into the shadows to make a report. "It's done," the stranger said. The young man smirked, knowing this was all part of their plan. He had created puppets of himself and the baby using his Forte, fooling their enemies into thinking they were sound asleep. With this deception, they could escape through a hidden passage and disappear from their pursuers' reach. It was the only way to ensure their safety and protect the secrets hidden in his mentor's former home. From that day forward, he and the baby girl in his arms would no longer be known by their former names. They would adopt new identities: new faces, new names. Silently, he took out an ugly mask from his pocket and put it on his face. Then, shielding the child's eyes with his hand, they slipped away from the raging flames and vanished into the night without looking back. "From this moment on... I will go by 'Dollmaker', and you shall answer to 'Yinlin' - a name your parents had long chosen for you." |
| Farewell to the Past | Yinlin | "Master Dollmaker, I want to join the Public Security Bureau," Yinlin declared. Her words were met with little surprise from Dollmaker, but the elderly woman beside him wore a worried expression. "Miss Yinlin, you are like my own granddaughter. I don't want to see you put yourself in danger. The Public Security Bureau is not a place for us." "Don't worry, no one knows who I really am. To them, I'm just an ordinary citizen. Master Dollmaker will create a fake identity for me." "Maybe, but I don't want to lose my family again... Please stay here at the Séance Society. Don't go anywhere else." The Dollmaker shut his notebook and gestured for Lady Guan to halt. "Go for it, Yinlin. My research has reached a critical point and conflicts with the Jinzhou Public Security Bureau are inevitable. To have insiders among their high-ranking officials should prove beneficial to us all." "No, I want to become a Secret Agent... just like my parents. I want to carry on their ideals in this way." She couldn't see behind the Dollmaker's mask, which he never removed in her presence since as far back as she could remember. But she caught a glimpse of complex emotions shimmering in his eyes — something rare and elusive. After a long pause, he finally nodded. "Before I bring your parents back with the puppets, you have the freedom to do whatever you please... Once my plan succeeds, we will seek revenge on the Public Security Bureau and eliminate all those who betrayed them in one swift strike!" Yinlin tried to say something but Dollmaker had already turned his attention back to the puppet he was working on. In the end, she silently nodded before turning and leaving, knowing that they were now going their separate ways. |
| A Corner in Darkness | Yinlin | Grimacing through the pain in her side, Yinlin struggled to stand up using a nearby table for support. A figure emerged from the shadows, yanking out the sharp blades of a puppet embedded in his body and carelessly tossing them aside. "I don't know why you risked everything to infiltrate our organization just for some records on two dead Patrollers... But it appears that I have emerged victorious," he taunted. With great effort, Yinlin summoned a crackling whip of lightning to her fingertips and hurled it at the man, but her aim faltered due to the excruciating pain and it landed several meters away on the ground. "My Forte can induce arrhythmia. As long as you're a human, there's no way you can avoid it." As the Tacet Mark on the man's arm emitted another bright light, Yinlin lost her hold and collapsed to the ground, her body losing all strength. "We don't have Resonators on your level on our team yet," the man continued. "But we do have spies among the Patrollers. Hmm, how did you even...?" As he continued to speak, realization dawned on him and a smirk spread across his face. "Aha, you're a Secret Agent, aren't you? How foolish to risk your life for something this trivial. Even if you were to uncover our secrets, what difference would it make?" As Yinlin's breathing grew fainter, the man knew her heart had stopped beating. "Time to finish you off. What a pity. You should have known not to mess with the Fractsidus..." But just as his dagger was about to strike, a sudden surge of powerful lightning ran through it, paralyzing him in place. "How... How did you..." Before he could pass out, he caught a glimpse of flickering lightning within Yinlin's chest. She had given herself an electric shock to bring her heart back from the brink of death. Yinlin manipulated her puppet, "Zapstring," with flicks of her hands to advance on the man as she was too drained to move herself. From his pockets, she retrieved a set of documents. "The Fractsidus... It's time to uproot this hidden darkness." |
 Popular Boxing Gym | Yuanwu | Yuanwu maintains a simple daily routine. Every day in the early morning, he opens up his gym and proceeds to clean the pieces of training equipment one by one. Then he boils a pot of tea and greets customers while savoring it. For those seeking to learn martial arts, Yuanwu assesses their physique and current condition before suggesting a suitable style. The intensity of training can be tailored to individual preferences, whether for physical fitness or making a name in the martial arts world. Every customer is heard attentively, with Yuanwu patiently crafting a personalized practice plan for their goals. Even those who enter without a clear purpose are welcomed with warm hospitality and offered guidance in exploring their interests. As soon as a client steps through the gym's front door, Yuanwu's kind eyes immediately meet theirs. "Leave your worries behind and lift your spirits in our gym. Let's start with some easy punches to unwind." From just a few moves and punches, Yuanwu can tell the guest's current physical condition and recommend a suitable training plan. "Your posture is slouched, and your walk lacks stability... The lower back muscles appear strained. Try this set of moves: three slow punches followed by one fast. This should provide relief." After practicing as per his instructions, the customer should feel a significant sense of relaxation, both mentally and physically. Before leaving, Yuanwu would say goodbye with just the right amount of genuine concern, almost like an old friend. "Feeling better now? That's good. And don't forget to ease up on those usual tense days. Take this pack of tea with you, it'll help you unwind." Among the numerous boxing gyms of various sizes in Jinzhou, only Yuanwu's gym enjoys such sustained popularity. |
| Bad Bargain | Yuanwu | It is said that Yuanwu Boxing Gym's owner is willing to help his customers with any kind of trouble, even those not related to working out. One day, Mahe, a customer usually focused and devoted during workouts, was suddenly off his game. Yuanwu picked up on that and asked him if something was wrong. Mahe's demeanor was somber as he led Yuanwu to the gym's locker, where he pulled out a delicate dinner plate from his belongings. The plate had a circle of small red flowers on the edge. Yuanwu recognized it as an enamel craft from overseas. The flowers were perfect, except for a small missing piece of the gold rim. The entire plate appeared incomplete without it. It was a gift Mahe prepared for Panhua. A few years ago, when Panhua Restaurant opened, Mahe promised that he would find the world's most beautiful dinner plate to serve the world's most flavorful meals. Even though the two of them later parted ways due to differences in ideals, Mahe still remembered his promise. He stuck to his ideals, but couldn't let go of his affection for her. For years, he searched for the perfect dinner plate, one that wasn't too flashy or tacky. Finally, his eyes landed on this simple yet elegant piece - white with red flowers. It was just right. The plate was expensive, and he had a hard time securing the funds to buy it. His anxiety mounted as he debated whether to give the gift. Would it be appropriate? Should he send it anyway? During his hesitation, a section of the filigree gold rim that adorned the plates went inexplicably missing. He asked all the vendors in Jinzhou, but they either weren't familiar with imported porcelain or didn't dare to attempt fixing such valuable items. Mahe was left in a predicament. Having listened to Mahe's situation, Yuanwu gently picked up the dinner plate, telling Mahe to come pick it up a week later. When Mahe came back, the flowers were perfectly arranged in a circle, with no signs of repair. In return, Yuanwu only asked Mahe to bring him and the repaired plate to Panhua Restaurant for a meal. Served on the beautiful plate adorned with enameled flowers, the spicy, fragrant dishes looked even more enticing. Panhua's smile looked peculiarly charming that day, and the usually reticent Mahe managed to put a smile on his face too. It was truly an enjoyable dinner. No matter how popular the gym was as a business, to charge so little for work like this seemed like a bad bargain to many. Yuanwu, however, simply shrugged it off with a smile, as if money was the least important thing to him. |
| Lightning on Stage | Yuanwu | Located on the frontier, Jinzhou boasts a robust martial arts culture, featuring numerous gyms of varying sizes. In this relatively tranquil era, the once stringent and harsh customs governing duels gradually waned, making way for more "amicable" consultations and exchanges between gyms. Where people gather, politics inevitably follows. Despite the activities being cloaked under the banner of exchanges, behind the scenes, individuals engaged in secret competitions, employing every means to emerge victorious. After all, this provides a rare opportunity for publicity. A simple statement from the winner about their affiliated gym brings about a surge in attention and lucrative business contracts. As the event gains more influence, an increasing number of gyms decide to participate. Surprisingly, even Yuanwu, known for his indifference to fame and fortune, threw his hat into the ring. Yuanwu's gym was already a flourishing and enviable business. His participation immediately stirred up trouble among some vested interests, with the most perturbed being the previous top-ranker, Wenxi. Wenxi, a businessman, treated both his gym and participation in the event as mere publicity tools for his weapon workshop, emphasizing commercial benefits. Notably, his top rank was purchased, not earned. Understanding Yuanwu's capabilities and recognizing that his gym was not overly corporate, Wenxi personally visited and extended a tempting offer to buy out Yuanwu. However, Yuanwu rejected the proposal without a second thought. Unfazed, Wenxi resorted to paying substantial sums to some of Yuanwu's regulars to divulge every detail of Yuanwu's boxing techniques. He then went on to bribe the referees and staff overseeing the finals, ensuring they turned a blind eye to the tampering he did with the fighters' suits. On the day of the finals, a surprising surge of thunder filled the air, only to dissipate in an instant. Between the flash and the sudden calm, both suits were struck open. The scorching thunder precisely hit the costumes, avoiding unprotected skin; a little further, and the fighters' joints would have been burned. The exposed inner workings of the broken suits revealed all the clandestine schemes, causing an uproar among the spectators and thus leading to the suspension of the match. Following an investigation, the horrifying thunder during the match was attributed to accidents caused by the concealed devices within the suits. Simultaneously, Wenxi's weapon workshop, responsible for manufacturing such devices, came under scrutiny. Before long, the workshop mysteriously vanished, fading into oblivion along with the rigged fighting events. After the storm had settled, Yuanwu Boxing Gym returned to its usual lively state, a small haven bustling with patrons. For the sharp-eyed customers, a subtle difference might be observed–a few familiar faces were absent from the crowd coming in and out of the premises. |
| Soothing Tea | Yuanwu | The standout feature that sets Yuanwu Boxing Gym apart from others is the emphasis on comfort. Under Boss Yuanwu's guidance, practitioners go through their routines, ending each session by wiping away the sweat and indulging in a pot of tea. The comfort! Whether practicing the nimble Xianfengquan, the powerful Leihuangquan, or the flexible Sanfuquan, Yuanwu has paired each style of boxing with a specific tea boasting complementary benefits. Practitioners, sipping the hot brew after their workouts, relax their muscles, invigorate circulation, and dispel fatigue. Yuanwu personally tested these tea formulas before handing them over to the neighboring teahouse, which thrives with a booming business. Requests for tea bookings are usually made months in advance, and while occasional delays occur, they never affect Yuanwu's orders to be delivered as scheduled. Speculations arise about Yuanwu not being the ordinary, idle gym boss he appears to be, but rather a big shot overseeing multiple enterprises. Could this highly sought-after tea be just another facet of his business? When confronted with inquiries, Yuanwu merely smiles and hands over a cup of tea, saying, "Stop chasing shadows. Have some tea and refresh. Sweat more, conjecture less." After a practice session and a cup of tea, with the nose filled with the fresh aroma, doubts and anxieties disperse with the droplets of sweat. Questions about Yuanwu's wealth and how he accumulates it become irrelevant. A profound sense of relaxation envelops the whole body, momentarily dispelling worldly plots and pursuits. In this world, most things demand pace and balance. When tired, take a break and enjoy some tea. It's a moment to pause, refresh, and then continue. |
| Timeless Heritage | Yuanwu | Yuanwu Boxing Gym was once renowned as the gym for Leihuangquan successors. The gym boasted countless honors, and each of its masters achieved fame across Huanglong. Leihuangquan's reputation rests on its aggressive style, but such intensity often comes at a cost. Unfortunately, the last three masters met rather unfortunate fates, with the most recent one experiencing a particularly tragic downfall. Rumor has it that he, in the heat of competition, punched through the boxing equipment, violating the rules and leading to his expulsion. Seeking solace from the blow to his career, he embarked on a ship tour, only to encounter a fatal thunderstorm. Coincidentally, he possessed a skill for manipulating thunder, and in a twist of cruel irony, he succumbed to the very force he once controlled. It seems that karma refuses to let anyone go. As the property agent finished his introduction of the gym's history, he paused to gauge the middle-aged man's reaction. "This property isn't really auspicious. Do you still want to buy?" The man simply smiled and nodded, undeterred. "Well, I've said everything I have to," the agent sighed, cautioning, "If you still want to buy it, go on, but just don't turn it into a martial arts gym again. It's unlucky." Yuanwu pushed open the creaky wooden door, allowing sunlight to spill into the space. Dormant dust danced in the hard-earned sunlight's warmth, settling on familiar yet weathered furnishings—the worn wooden stakes, the boxing ring with a worn floor, the quiet display case, and dusty medals of honor. Yuanwu delicately wiped down these objects from the past, along with memories obscured by dust. The wooden stakes bore the marks of his late fellow apprentices' intense practice. The medals in the display case were hard-earned victories, and as for the floor, it was indeed broken by himself. Back in the match, he knew no fear and no restraint. A single punch shattered the delicate balance maintained by masters over the years, breaking the floor and throwing him into the storm of reality. The storm, which was also called reality, tore apart the young martial artist who knew nothing but fight. Perhaps, as the rumors suggested, he was truly buried at the bottom of the sea. As the gym reopened under new ownership, a middle-aged owner with a warm smile welcomed customers coming and going. "Welcome to Yuanwu Boxing Gym." |
 Her Leadership | Jinhsi | Jinzhou, on the borderlands, often conjures images of desolate lands and barren mountain ranges. Once a merchant was tasked with a journey to Jinzhou. "I'm not well," he promptly refused. "I would die halfway if I were to go there." His colleague smiled and responded, "You'll know what it's like once you see it for yourself." Reluctantly, the duo set out for Jinzhou. They traversed countless barren wastelands and perilous jungles until they finally reached a picturesque place embraced by lush mountains and clear water. Standing at the end of the forest path were towering city gates. Soldiers on guard gave them a friendly welcome, granting them entry after a quick check of their papers. A lively tapestry of life unfurled before them as they ventured into Jinzhou. Contrary to expectations, the city was a bustling hub of activity and lacked any trace of desolation or bleakness. Amidst well-designed buildings and serene ponds teeming with colorful carp, they discovered a captivating scenery that rivaled even the lush landscapes of inland regions. Lost in the lively atmosphere, they sampled Kungfu Tea at Liuxian Teahouse, savored the specialty dish at Panhua's Restaurant, and immersed themselves in the shows at Jinzhou Theater. With each experience, their weariness faded away, replaced by the invigorating energy of Jinzhou and the warm hospitality of its people. "Unbelievable! Who would have thought a borderland city could thrive like this? It feels like a utopia. It must have taken a lot of hard work to create such beautiful structures in here." "Our Magistrate always preached the value of hard work. No matter your circumstances, with determination and effort, you can achieve your dreams. So despite the barren mountains and Tacet Discords, we built our homes and savored the good times before hardship struck." "It's amazing how you all pulled it off. It couldn't have been easy, but each of you made it happen. Truly impressive." "Well, it's not as tough as it seems with our great magistrate leading the way. We just follow her lead, and she takes care of everything here." "Yeah, she seems really wise and capable. I bet she has years of experience too?" "Nope, she's still young, only in her teens!" "Teens?!" |
| Her Wish-granting Magic | Jinhsi | When Jinhsi became the Jinzhou Magistrate, she was young and inexperienced. The people of Jinzhou placed their trust in her decisions, but she knew it was not her alone, but also her role as the Sentinel's Resonator, that earned their faith. Taking on this great responsibility, Jinhsi felt determined to guide Jinzhou towards a better future, despite her initial challenges. She also understood that trust had to be earned through hard work and dedication. Despite the skepticism she encountered, Jinhsi was more troubled by the weariness etched on the faces of the people—a weariness born of life's hardships and a lack of hope. She realized that beyond addressing tangible issues like material shortages and external threats, her true challenge was to restore the hope and confidence of the people of Jinzhou, who had been worn down by life. In such times, what the people needed most was a reliable source of hope, regardless of who provided it. During a reconstruction event, the young magistrate performed a "miracle" known as "Sentinel Granting Wishes." The remote village had been plagued by weather anomalies for years. Even though the Tacet Discords had stopped, villagers still suffered from extreme cold and gloom. Jinhsi asked the villagers to voice their wishes. At first, silence hung heavy until a sneeze broke the silence. A timid voice then followed, "It's so cold… I wish it was a bit warmer here." Standing amidst the crowd, Jinhsi held a Loong Scale, closed her eyes, and nodded, "I will convey your wish to the Sentinel." Right after her words fell, loong horns sprouted from her head, and a Sentinel-like light pierced the dark clouds and the snow on the ground—just in an instant, the ice thawed, and the land once again sprang to life. Witnessing this spectacle, the crowd exclaimed, "The Sentinel... the Sentinel has shown itself!" People observed the loong-shaped light in awe, with hope rekindling in their eyes. News of the young magistrate's wish-granting ability spread rapidly in Jinzhou. Wishing became a popular custom, with people submitting their desires to her at City Hall. She meticulously examined each one and devised effective strategies to fulfill them. "Dear Magistrate, I'm worried about Tacet Discords infiltrating our city."—Taoqi, director of the Defense Division, was then tasked with fortifying the city defense walls. "Dear Magistrate, I pray for my father's safe return and an end to the war."—Jinhsi prioritized research on Tacetite weaponry and material engineering, pushing for new weapons against Discords and faster upgrades for defense. "Dear Magistrate, the Exiles have been spotted in the city. I'm scared."—Jinhsi expanded Patrol Stations, added Patrollers in the city, and assigned more Midnight Rangers to guard outside. Within three years, the city defense walls were renewed, new weapons were created, and Tacet Discords were repelled. Jinzhou finally ushered in peace and prosperity. As time passed, people came to realize that the so-called "Sentinel Granting Wishes" was just a white lie from the young magistrate. However, they also discovered her true dedication to addressing their problems and concerns, always being on the spot at lightning speed. The lights in City Hall never went out, even on holidays. Jinhsi worked tirelessly until midnight, developing feasible plans to fulfill people's wishes. And eventually, they came to understand that she possessed an incredible power - without a Loong Scale, she could summon a dazzling light that could pierce through ice and turn the tide of time. ... Today, making wishes has become a habit for Jinzhou people, an unspoken agreement between them and their young magistrate. "Dear Magistrate, I hope you can take some time to relax and come watch our latest show." This was the last wish of the year. Smiling, Jinhsi closed the file in her hands, leaned against the window in her office, and listened to the melodious singing from Jinzhou Theater, where the new Hero Play, Loong Maiden and Wishes, was being performed. |
| Her Kindness | Jinhsi | In any situation, Jinhsi always wears a gentle smile, reassuring those around her, "There's still much to do, but rest assured, I'm here to guide you through it." Back then, Tacet Discords ravaged the lands, and warriors fought for every piece of land. People dreaded the thought of bidding farewell to loved ones heading to the front lines, uncertain if those farewells might be forever. After witnessing the despair and anguish in her people's eyes, the newly appointed young Magistrate couldn't bear to add to their sorrow. She understood that revealing her own distress would only weaken the hard-earned confidence and hope they held onto amidst adversity. Thus, she never let a hint of despair show, always exuding composure. Despite her unwavering smile and gentle demeanor, Jinhsi was aware that without tangible results, her actions may be perceived as insincere or ignorant of the people's suffering. To counter this, she resolved to be a proactive magistrate, tirelessly working to address their concerns and guide them towards a life of happiness and peace. While the Midnight Rangers valiantly fought to protect Jinzhou, a different yet equally difficult battle raged within the city walls. Families of soldiers grappled with anxiety. Their worries for their loved ones' safety had disrupted their daily lives. Unfortunately, interference in the Tacet Fields hindered real-time communication with soldiers. In response, Jinhsi implemented a speedy delivery service in collaboration with the Ministry of Development and Lollo Logistics. Free letters were quickly delivered to families of soldiers, thanks to Lollo Logistics, while the Ministry of Development built shortcuts for efficient transport. This helped ease the worries of families wanting updates on their loved ones serving in the military. Another pressing issue Jinhsi tackled was comforting families who lost loved ones in battle. She worked with the Ministry of War and Ministry of Development to create a thorough plan. The city honored fallen soldiers by increasing compensation for their families and building a wall of remembrance in Knell Square. Tablets bearing their names were made from the finest ore, able to withstand the elements and provide solace for centuries to come. The Midnight Rangers may not have fought for honor, but their sacrifices deserved to be remembered. With the completion of Knell Square, people had another place to commemorate and seek comfort in their loss. In all these efforts to console and address the aftermath, Jinhsi always led by example. Whenever people saw her gentle smile, they knew she would introduce policies that cheered them up just like her smile did. Such warmth served as a balm for the wounds of war, helping the people of Jinzhou endure difficult times. |
| Her Rare Anger | Jinhsi | Jinhsi possesses an exceptionally good temper; no matter the circumstances, she always maintains a graceful and gentle smile, and hardly anyone has ever seen her get angry. "Does our Magistrate even know how to get angry? She's always so calm, no matter what." "Seriously, I've wondered about that too. How would she look when mad?" "I've seen it," replied Shi, a typically solitary miner who stays focused on his work. It was an exceptionally bitter winter. The contractor, citing supposed excessive equipment usage, claimed a hefty sum from a mining project, leaving the miners with nothing to show for their labor. Fresh from the aftermath of battles, chaos reigned. With the surge in demand for civil construction, the need for ores skyrocketed. However, the Ministry of Development's exploration equipment fell short, forcing them to resort to renting privately owned tools. However, the contractor proved to be a profiteer, reneging on payment when the time came. What's worse, as the president of the Chamber of Commerce, he wielded a monopoly over exploration equipment in the market and paid little heed to the officials. After a year of hard work, Shi had been counting on the payment to spend a joyous New Year with his family. But now, that simple wish seemed out of reach. Looking at his calloused, weathered hands, Shi recalled the words of his colleague, Debiao: "…Honesty won't fill our pockets. Let's take action and get back what we deserve—our own hard-earned cash." Under the cover of night, Shi and his fellow workers sneaked into the merchant's mansion. Pressing his ear against the door, Shi listened intently for any signs of movement, ready to seize the chance to burst in. "Mr. Zhu, I'm here to deliver some news," a young girl's voice sounded from within, gentle yet tinged with an unsettling chill. "You have been removed from the Chamber of Commerce, and your business license has been revoked. Henceforth, you are forbidden from engaging in any commercial activities in Jinzhou." "Huh? That's funny. We're in Jinzhou, a city renowned for its adherence to the law. Since you're new to your role, dear Magistrate, I'll turn a blind eye to your ignorance. Let me tell you: expelling a Chamber of Commerce president takes a minimum of two weeks here, and as for revoking my business license, I demand evidence! No evidence, no revocation. Simple as that." "Since you mentioned the law, then let's discuss it. Per Article 180 of the Jinzhou Commercial Law, expelling a Chamber of Commerce president requires over half of its members' signatures, as well as those of the Minister of Commerce and Director of the Ministry of Development. Obtaining approval from the magistrate can be time-consuming. Therefore, I am here to inform you personally in order to expedite the return of wages for our workers." "Regarding the evidence you requested... The Patrol Station has already collected and submitted it to the Decree Council. I am always prepared." "As I leave, know that your monopoly on exploration gear has ended. The Ministry of Development expedited production and new equipment arrived today. Your monopoly was never going to last." Lost in the noise inside, Shi missed the rest of the conversation. It seemed like someone was defending themselves, but Shi knew it would be useless against overwhelming proof and careful planning. Soon, they were notified of their rightful payment on their Terminals. Finally, they could ring in the New Year with happiness. Following that, such occurrences ceased as Magistrate Jinhsi enacted new laws prohibiting monopolies and amended payment settlement procedures: workers' wages are settled before contractors receive their payments. As winter faded into spring, a new era dawned. "C'mon Shi, spill the beans! What was the Magistrate like when she got angry?" "Well... She wasn't scary. She looked very dependable. Reassuring." "What?!" |
| Her Long-awaited Guest | Jinhsi | Many praise young Magistrate Jinhsi for her remarkable intelligence and perceptive nature. There seems to be no realm of knowledge beyond her grasp, nor any challenge she cannot surmount. Since taking office, she has deftly navigated Jinzhou's complex affairs, implementing policies that have brought about peace and prosperity for its people, ushering in an era of peace and prosperity. As the Magistrate of Jinzhou, Jinhsi's responsibilities extend from matters of great importance, such as military and political affairs, to seemingly minor issues. However, she believes that even the smallest details can greatly impact people's lives. This is the standard she holds herself to. Though well-informed, Jinhsi still faced mysteries unknown to her. Lately, a person of great significance to her city had arrived, surrounded by elusive secrets. This only piqued her curiosity and concern for them even more. According to historical records, a legendary hero in Jinzhou was said to possess the power of absorbing Tacet Discords with their bare hands. This person left an unforgettable mark on the history of Jinzhou and even the entire Huanglong region. Now, a new individual with unique abilities was about to appear in the world. Jinhsi suspected they may be connected to the fabled hero. Knowing the significance of this distinguished guest, Jinhsi planned a careful welcome, fully aware that they would be drawn into conflicts and conspiracies. Thus, she crafted a meticulous plan to greet them in her own distinctive manner. She recorded a message to be broadcast throughout the region, extending a warm welcome to all visitors to Jinzhou, ensuring they felt warmly welcomed. She then purposefully left tokens to find her awaited guest, and to uncover hidden threats in the shadows. Worried about her distinguished guest's safety, she sent her personal bodyguard to protect them in secret. Mobilizing all available resources, she provided just the right amount of assistance to help her guest unravel one puzzle after another. Jinhsi remained determined to return to Jinzhou in time for their three-day agreement, despite hardships. Once a serene haven, Mt. Firmament bristled with instability, its tranquility disrupted by the Sentinel's peril and minions of the Fractsidus. Driven by a desire for Jinzhou's peace, the young magistrate ventured alone into the fray, confronting various difficulties while seeking information about the Sentinel. Emerging unharmed from such adversity was challenging for even someone as strong-willed as Jinhsi. But whenever she felt discouraged or lost in self-doubt, she'd remember a certain person. Upon waking up, that individual swiftly grasped the intricate circumstances, exhibiting patience as they awaited her decision. Jinhsi was sure they would lead Jinzhou to a brighter future, together. On the City Hall's terrace, Jinhsi, the returning magistrate, gazed at the esteemed guest with relief and joy. With a nod of greeting, she uttered the words she had rehearsed a thousand times over: "It's been three days." "We've both made it on time." "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Jinhsi... It brings me great joy to see you, Rover." |
 An Interview | Xiangli Yao | Years later, I found myself standing at that door again. The Xiangli family had always been a star in Jinzhou's journalistic circles. Back then, doing a piece on the family was considered an honor, and indeed, their scientific heritage continues to produce admirable accomplishments. The last time I stood on this doorstep, I was still a rookie, eager for recognition, and the Xianglis helped me with just that by allowing me to take their family portrait. A piece that ticked all the boxes. The photo won me a small award and secured my job. As the door opened, I looked down to see a boy with bright and clear eyes looking back at me. I flashed my press badge, and he ushered me inside. Xiangli Yao, the "Son of the Genius" and "Paragon's Descendant." His father's brilliance had turned heads across Jinzhou, and his mother's perseverance saved the lives of countless children in the city. This very house once drew the attention of many, and it remains that way to this day. I prided myself on conducting interviews, but this young boy seemed more comfortable than I was. Xiangli Yao, like his parents, possessed a natural eloquence, his demeanor gentle and poised. The interview flowed smoothly, and after setting aside my notebook, he offered me a cup of tea. I thanked him, but he shook his head. "I should thank you for visiting because of my parents," Xiangli Yao smiled, "I've heard a thing or two about what's been happening." Jinzhou, with its vast lands and rich resources, is not without its share of discord. The Xianglis had done me a favor in the past, one I felt compelled to repay, both professionally and personally by making sure their son was okay. Xiangli Yao smiled wistfully, his expression hinting at a memory relived. "My parents are always busy with work, so I'm glad someone remembers them. Your reports capture their moments, research results, words spoken, and many other details that I didn't even know about... When I read those news and interviews, I feel like I get to know them better." I hesitated for a moment but still went on to ask. "Do you think... it's unfair? Perhaps your parents should have spent more time with their child?" "They both have their passions, and it's the same for me. I'm happy they're doing what they love." "...Is that so." I took a deep breath and prepared to leave, but Xiangli Yao asked me to stay. I forgot the exact reason he gave. However, I'm sure it must've been a good one. Xiangli Yao had a way with words that made refusing his hospitality difficult. I only remember having another cup of warm tea and continuing to chat for a while before finally taking my leave. As I reached for the door, the boy remarked with a straight face, "If there's anything you want to confirm, it's best to do it in person. When I was little, my mother and I often talked about the importance of companionship—we even exchanged small notes. Though I was still very young then, those notes, with their few simple words... I find them just as comforting today." I nodded and left the house, ready to pen my next piece. But before that, I would send a message to my child, whom I had neglected to contact for several days. |
| A Persuasion | Xiangli Yao | Xiangli Yao leaned forward in his chair and stared resolutely at the elderly man in front of him. The older man held a prestigious position in the education system and had personal connections with Xiangli Yao's father. Today, it was another attempt at persuasion, much like the previous ones. "I am not attending a separate class. Regular school is fine for me," Xiangli Yao reiterated. The elderly man tapped on the table, "Your current pace might not fit into the standard curriculum. Moving too quickly can bring challenges. You and your classmates are not on the same playing field." Xiangli Yao shook his head. "There's no point wasting resources opening a special class just for me. I already have access to the Jinzhou archives for study. Besides... I'm just like the others," he said, counting on his fingers, "I have a great time watching hero plays with them, and we trade cards... Oh, and when they invite me over for dinner, I get to test my gadgets out on them and get their feedback!" The elder sighed deeply. "Your teacher has mentioned such things to me. He says you get along well with your classmates. But this isn't just about you, it's about getting you into the Academy faster," he said, staring at the young person before him. "Xiangli Yao, your father also accelerated his studies and had more time to conduct all the research he loved." "I am not my father." "Yet you share his talents and temperament. That I've noticed." Xiangli Yao gripped the textbooks in his hands, as he slowly and firmly shook his head, "But that's not what I want. I want to take things slow, like the way it is now." "Playing trivial games with your classmates won't do you any good... You'll tire of it sooner or later. It's a waste of time." The elder stood by the window, looking out at students playing and laughing in the schoolyard. Xiangli Yao went to him, patting his shoulder. "That won't happen," Xiangli Yao said softly, also looking at the same view. They were his friends. "I want to be like them, going to school, talking about snacks, catching fish in the river, and watching cool Echoes. Hey, they even taught me when and how to smile and compliment someone. That's important to me. I know you mean well, but... I get to decide what's best for me, right?" Old and young faced each other in the silent office. The elder sighed again. "You remind me of your father. But the two of you are not quite the same." Xiangli Yao smiled, "Well, like I said... I'm not my father. I'm not the student you once had." The door opened again. The next day, Xiangli Yao returned to his regular classes. |
| A Question | Xiangli Yao | "Here. Another package of yours." His friend placed the box in a forgotten corner of the dorm, then sprawled out in bed, "Xiangli Yao, you should definitely sign up for Lollo Logistics membership. With how often you've been getting these deliveries, it's worth it." Xiangli Yao turned his chair to face his friend, "Haha. I'll think about it." "Latest issue?" "Yeah, they sent me a sample." "Jealous! I wish I could work that fast, popping out articles left and right while taking classes at the same time. Man." He waved his arms and grinned, "I guess you already have that Imperial Academy exam in the bag. So, where's it gonna be?" With that, he tossed over a can of soda. The can drew a perfect arc in the air, landing squarely in Xiangli Yao's hand. "Too much sugar," sighed the model student, known for his healthy habits as his lips quirked into a smile, cracking open the can anyway. "About that..." A brief silence followed. Then Xiangli shook his head softly. "I haven't decided yet." His friend raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Well, that's new. I thought you made up your mind already. Professors must be fighting over you." "There are a few things I haven't figured out yet." "Which are...?" "Boundaries. The boundaries of truth," Xiangli Yao said slowly, twisting a cube in his hands. "Pascar, do you suppose that humanity will hold itself back in pursuing the boundaries of truth?" "Maybe. There are plenty of nut job scientists out there, so who knows." "We chase after the stars, only to fall beneath them. Boundaries limit our scope... but without it, there's no way to tell whether you're progressing." "Well... you and I have different opinions on this, and I'll keep mine to myself to avoid an argument. But what's all this got to do with your admission? You trying to change the subject on me?" Xiangli Yao smiled softly. "It does. After my father pursued his own path, I've heard little about him. But I've uncovered some leads... Perhaps they'll lead me to the Court of Savantae, the place he went searching for." "You sure you're going? After so many years, plenty of people have tried to find even a smither of hint related to the CSC, with little success." "I feel that I must go. Even if I end up finding nothing. I want to know..." The young scholar spoke slowly, his voice gradually softened, "I want to know... if my father crossed that boundary." A month before exams, Xiangli vanished. He left behind a video, revealing his confusion and the sense of emptiness he felt on his path of pursuing the truth. But whichever path he chose henceforth, he would embrace its outcome. Empty seats lingered in the dorm, as life carried on. |
| A Ruin | Xiangli Yao | It took over ten days to get inside the ruins. At every step, remnants of the Court of Savantae's defenses were giving Xiangli Yao a hard time. Despite his meticulous preparations, some supplies and provisions had been lost along the way. Xiangli Yao assessed what remained, weighing his options, and ultimately chose to press deeper into the ruins. He had long since departed from the borders of Huanglong, and returning a second time to explore further would prove highly difficult. After surveying the soil upon arrival, the young scholar conjectured that these ruins, like those before, had little time left. Internally, however, conditions were far better. The bulk of the instruments were well-preserved and intact. Cerulean fluids surged and circulated in the conduits of all the mechanisms with a vitality outlasting their creators. Each mechanism, precise, robust, and elegant, was meticulously cataloged by Xiangli Yao as he discerned subtle deviations from Huanglong's existing technologies. The more he explored, the more an irrepressible thrill seized him. Like a poet enraptured by fine wine, Xiangli Yao felt drunk on the outpouring of knowledge that surrounded him. His Terminal had lost its connection to the outside world, but he still did his best to record everything. His fascination with mechanics, a domain where Savantae had made unparalleled strides, led him to wonder whether his father had known of these innovations, and where he was now on the path of chasing the stars. Yet amid the marvels, signs of a strange intrusion became apparent. Ever since the Lament, most technologies should have reverted back to their rudimentary states. But here, structures once familiar bore alien marks of alteration, defying erosion yet imbued with an elegance surpassing even Savantae's other creations. The deeper Xiangli Yao went into the ruins, the anomalies intensified. Xiangli Yao's recordings slowed. The need to distinguish between anomalies and original designs demanded meticulous care. Eventually, he landed on a guess: The people here were trying to create some sort of door. A door. A gateway. A... portal. For the first time, Xiangli Yao hesitated. Besides the danger, the doubt was about direction. So far, no alternate passage into the ruins had revealed itself, suggesting his father's departure had taken a different path. Had his father fallen here? Or... If truth had a path, perhaps this was its nearest gateway. |
| A Smile | Xiangli Yao | Later, when Xiangli Yao reflected on his journey through the Court of Savantae ruins, he realized that parts of his memory had become foggy. He suspected it was due to the effects of the ancient mechanisms and force fields—devices that transcended current technological limits and boasted near-unfathomable levels of advancement. Creating them was clearly unwise, at least for the CSC researchers. Since the Lament, exploration beyond had halted due to the warping of the laws of physics. Yet, many scholars still yearned to traverse the skies again and explore interstellar space. That portal might have been built for that very purpose: to leap into the sky, or perhaps even further, into the heart of the civilization that had transformed these ruins. Xiangli Yao wasn't sure if they had succeeded, but he paid a steep price for his curiosity—his arm. He could only speculate that he had managed to solve the sequence and activate the mechanism. He recalled the marks etched into the enormous cavity. They were rugged and twisted, as if a huge Tacet Mark was carved onto it. Then, crystalline, delicate butterflies emerged from the fracture. A strange power seeped from the gap, glowing with the mysteries of another civilization. As Xiangli Yao stared into it, past barriers that once seemed insurmountable now appeared solvable within this new framework. The waves of knowledge surged, capable of bending, subduing, and intertwining all frequencies in existence. He took a step forward, almost forgetting the blood gushing from his torn flesh. The dizziness from blood loss and a faint euphoria blurred his senses. At that moment, he noticed a familiar object lying dust-covered on the workstation. His childhood memories were hazy, but he recognized it immediately as a gift from his mother to his father. Xiangli Yan had once shown it to him as a child, a father and son photo of them together. Suddenly, he understood. Even at the end, his father held onto a memory of their family. He hadn't abandoned everything. Beyond that threshold, could he still see himself progressing, at the end of pure theory where no one could observe…? His father devoted everything to theoretical science, his mother to applied science. Xiangli Yao was like them, always longing to reach for the stars, even willing to burn himself in the process. They had given their all. And what about him? Standing just a step away from the ultimate answer, the young scholar found himself thinking about trivial, unrelated things. He recalled how, after his parents' departure, friends and neighbors had dragged him out to join a Jinzhou festival. It was supposed to be the Moon-Chasing Festival, but the threat from the Threnodian had forced a simpler celebration. Yet, a festival is always a festival, a reminder to celebrate even in hard times. He had demonstrated one of his newest creations, a small gadget, which won applause from the crowd. He was like his parents. However, he was not their clone. Even as his shadow followed theirs, he found himself unable to journey the same roads they had traveled. With trembling hands, the young scholar searched for scattered parts, trying to assemble a device to stop the bleeding. His newly acquired Forte gently surged and began to warp the metal structures according to his will. As the bleeding ceased, so did the grand opportunity before him. It was only a few steps away... but Xiangli Yao had already turned his back. He knew he had found his own answer. |
 The Whisper | Augusta | "Clang!" As the sword was struck from her hand, the girl's consciousness was also cast into chaos. Heat pulsed through her limbs. Then, numbness. Nerves stretched too tight snapped one by one, plunging her into a cold, silent dark. She no longer remembered how many times she had been knocked down. She didn't know how many more times she would have to get back up. Fear began to take root in her chest. It wrapped around her unraveling will like a cocoon spun of silk. She was scared. Scared she'd collapse before achieving anything. Scared she'd fall on a path with no way back. "Accept this feeling, Augusta..." That voice rang in her ear, cutting through the dark like a match struck in a void. "Learn fear. Learn dread. This is your very first lesson..." "Learn to accept your weakness. Only by knowing weakness can you understand strength." "Only by tasting defeat can you grasp the worth of power..." "The path of glory wasn't paved for you. But if you reach its end, no one will care whose name you bore at the start." "The will to become a hero... That alone is enough to begin becoming one..." "So walk the path, Augusta... You have no other choice. And you need no other choice." "Don't chase the light like a moth. Be the blazing sun no one dares to look at." "Now rise, Augusta." The whisper tore through the cocoon of fear, leaving her bare again in the freezing dark. The cold stung what little will she had left, and then— She stood. Her legs shook. One foot dragged behind the other. She reached for her sword. Picked it up. And once more, she challenged the Gladiator named Cato. From that moment forward— She wielded her very first victory like a blade, carving out her path to glory. |
| The Right of the Strong | Augusta | Confront. Assess. Deliver the blow. Then came the verdict, the applause, and the cheers. She ignored the burning gazes and turned to leave without a second glance. Somewhere along the way, Augusta had lost all passion for victories that came too easily. She wanted a whetstone. Someone who could sharpen her edge. But in all of Septimont, such opponents had grown scarce. "Not enough... Still far from enough..." "Two strikes to break their offense. One to crush their defense. One final blow to end it." "An opponent of this level... I should've ended that fight in four moves..." In the lounge, Augusta sat alone, reviewing the flaws in her performance. "No need to rush, Augusta..." "You already possess the mindset of the strong. That's good..." "Searching for openings, scraping for chances—that's how the weak fight. For the strong, victory is never the goal. It's only the beginning." As always, the whisper came. It was like a mentor, patient yet firm. A persuasive elder who showed up to offer insight whenever she needed it the most. "The strong...?" Augusta tightened her grip on her sword, uncertainty in her voice. "Have I... really become one of them?" "Without question, Augusta. You are no longer that helpless little girl." "Drain every ounce of worth from the weak. Let the stronger ones become your fuel." "Climb the stairs their bodies build and take the throne meant for you..." "...!" As if a spike of ice pierced her spine, Augusta's eyes shot open. "What is it, Augusta?" "Nothing... I just..." She pressed a hand to her face, brow furrowed, trying to remember. "I just... can't remember what today's opponent even looked like..." A few days later, Augusta received an invitation to attend the underground pits. Once, she stood there as a Gladiator. Now, they welcomed her as an esteemed guest, seated among the nobles. "Accept it, Augusta. Broaden your horizons. Only by stepping beyond that little cage can you rise to the summit of Septimont." She had meant to decline. But in the end, she listened to the whisper. So she sat stiffly in a plush seat she wasn't used to, replying to upper-class small talk with polite phrases that didn't sound like her. Discomfort tugged at her, so she shifted her gaze to the arena below. That's when she noticed, behind the iron bars, far more Gladiators than any standard match required. "Augusta, our brightest star!" said the noble beside her. "Everyone hopes a worthy challenger will rise to meet you. Alas, we've yet to find one." "So we've prepared something special. An Agon that no one has ever seen before. No rules, no limits. A huge free-for-all to the death!" A strange unease stirred in Augusta's chest, slipping quietly into her blood. "Look, Augusta! All those waiting to enter. They once fell to your blade. All of them." "Now, they've been granted a second chance. To fight again. To earn the right to challenge you once more." "And that right… belongs only to the last one standing." A buzzing filled her head. She heard her blood pounding against her eardrums. "Enjoy the show, Augusta…" The whisper murmured. "Enjoy the feast prepared for you. A right that only the strong possess…" "The right… of the strong…" Her murmur collided with the whisper's voice, two flints striking, and something inside her caught fire. It ignited her blood. It ignited her doubts and the questions she had long held. "No need for all that trouble…" Her Tacet Mark flared on the back of her hand. A streak of wind cut through the air. Her sword flew straight into her grip. The nobles gasped as Augusta rose from her seat and leapt down into the arena. "If you wish to challenge me, you need no right!" She drove her sword into the ground, her voice ringing across the arena. "If you share the same dream, then point your blade at the one you most want to defeat. Right now!" At her words, the iron gates creaked open. Gladiators stepped in, one by one, encircling her. In that instant, memories flooded Augusta's mind. She scanned the crowd. What seemed like nearly a hundred eyes stared her down. Not a single one was unfamiliar. She remembered their names. Their moves. Their strengths. And their weaknesses. She waited, calm and still, for the warhorn to sound. That day, she was the last one standing in the arena. But she took no lives. That day, she heard the roar of a thousand voices. But the whisper… was not among them. |
| The "Flawless" Hero | Augusta | "Who is he?" "Are you kidding? That's Ephor Magno! There's not a soul in Septimont who doesn't know him." "Ephor..." In the shadow of a street corner, Augusta took the last bite of her dry bread, her eyes fixed on the tall figure speaking in the square. He looked to be in his thirties. His features were chiseled like marble, yet softened by a warm, open smile. As his speech rose to its peak, he spread his arms wide. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause. An undefeated champion of the public Agons. A once-in-a-generation Gladiator prodigy. He had slain seven Corrosauruses in the Sanguis Plateaus and returned alive, bathed in dragon's blood. They called him the "Dragon Slayer." At that time, tales of his deeds echoed throughout Septimont. He listened to the people. Never turned away a plea. He ruled without greed. An Ephor chosen by the will of the masses. Many believed he would rise as the prophesied Hero of Heroes of their era. To Augusta, that title had always felt distant and unreachable. But for the first time, she saw someone who might truly ascend to it. A fire lit in her chest. Those feats she once thought exaggerated, those soul-stirring legends... Someone in her own lifetime had actually lived them. That meant her dream wasn't just a fantasy. It could be within her reach. But slowly, that fire began to cool. She studied the man's face, her gaze lingering on that impeccably beautiful smile— "Why couldn't someone that strong... save Fabianum?" Not long after, Augusta stood face-to-face with that same man, those questions still heavy in her heart. "Congratulations, young one. You've earned Arsinosa's blessing. You shall be crowned the new Champion." On the medal platform, Augusta faced Magno as he prepared to pin the medal to her chest. But behind the smile he strained to maintain, she saw eyes dulled by weariness. The hero she once imagined no longer stood there. Nor did the fire. The warrior once hailed as the Dragon Slayer was gone. Augusta accepted the honor in silence. Then, just before stepping away, she whispered, low enough that only he could hear— "Were those legends about you... ever true?" He answered with the same silent smile. Sometime later, a nameless Gladiator appeared in the underground pits. He wore a helm that concealed his face, and armor black as obsidian. He fought like a man with nothing to lose. Sought out only the strongest. No flourish. No dignity. He didn't fight for honor. He fought like he was hunting death. "The Nameless" racked up wins at a terrifying pace, soon drawing Augusta's attention. Though she was already crowned Champion, she accepted his challenge. The moment their blades met, she knew. Helm or not, it couldn't hide those same clouded, exhausted eyes. She didn't know why a revered Ephor, a hero with nothing left to prove, would descend to the shadows to fight in a bloodstained cage. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered was the strong opponent before her and how to defeat him. Steel clashed, again and again. Neither yielded an inch. To break the standoff, the Nameless's sword sparked with electricity. Arcs of crimson lightning danced along the blade. Lightning forged into a weapon. His ultimate strike, one meant to end it all. And in that blinding flash, Augusta saw it. The legend. The warrior of the Sanguis Plateaus, lightning in hand, ripping through stormclouds and despair to bring hope to those behind him. Her Tacet Mark flared on the back of her hand. She could never summon lightning like his. Her Forte was a whisper compared to his roar. But even so— That faint flicker of resistance bent the lightning, just slightly. And in that breath of an opening, Augusta struck with everything she had. One final swing. After that day, the Nameless vanished from the pits. To the world, it was just another of Augusta's many victories. No one realized that a legend had quietly ended. Some time later, on an otherwise ordinary day, Augusta received a letter. A handwritten invitation from the Ephor's Palace. |
| Throne of Thorns | Augusta | "Before you ask all your 'whys'... allow me one question first." "Are you... from Fabianum?" "Yes." "I thought so. To think an orphan from Fabianum would become the Champion of Septimont." "Are you surprised?" "No. Just... regretful." In the reception room of the Ephor's Palace, Magno's signature smile had faded. Though barely a decade older than Augusta, his expression, in contrast to her youthful fire, resembled that of a man already at death's door. "That strike of yours," he said suddenly, recalling their duel in the underground pit, "was beautiful. I doubt even my younger self could've parried it." "Why… even though everyone calls you a hero," Augusta asked, "can I only see resignation in you?" "I might have lived up to being a hero, but not to being Ephor." "As a hero, I could answer the hopes of ten... a hundred, even a thousand. But as Ephor, I could not realize a single true vision for Septimont." "You sit at the pinnacle of power. How can you claim to be powerless?" "I do not make excuses for myself. When I first took this role, I truly believed I could carry the weight of a thousand hopes." "But I can lie to myself, but not to reality. Young one... I knew who you were from the very beginning. The day you were brought to Septimont, I knew you were the last survivor of Fabianum." "Your existence was a blade hanging over me. And the day you became Champion… that blade finally fell. I could no longer hide from the mistake I made—turning a blind eye to Fabianum's fall, just to preserve my own pitiful crown." "Are you telling me this out of guilt?" "Maybe. Or maybe… hope." Magno rose and took out a glass from a drawer hidden beneath the desk. "The crown gave me immense power, but it also turned me into a coward. I am no longer the hero Septimont needs." He raised the empty glass toward her. "Wear the crown, Augusta. You've defeated every opponent you can see. Now it's time to face the ones you can't." "And you think I'm worthy just because I beat you?" "No. Nothing so shallow." Magno shook his head. "It's because I heard your name. From the heights of Septimont to its depths, from gilded halls to humble alleyways. Regardless of wealth, strength, class, or creed, the people have been connected by just one name. And I believe, one day, that connection will become the new force that drives Septimont forward." "I tested the weight of that name with my own sword. That... is the last thing I could offer as Ephor." "Even if your bones are burned to ash, do not go gentle into that false night." For the briefest moment, through the rim of his glass, a flicker of fire returned to Magno's eyes. Later that night, the cleaning servants found Magno seated upon the Ephor's throne. His face was pale, lips purple. Poison, they said. A shattered glass lay at his feet, the spilled liquid glistening as it streamed down the steps. Some said it was the work of rivals. Others said it was the Senate's gift. An elegant death in a glass. But most agreed that Septimont needed a new "hero." And just as Magno had foretold, Augusta's name began to spread across Septimont like a wind. Spring gave way to autumn, and the Ephor's throne welcomed its new occupant. Augusta stood where she once had only looked up. She gazed at the throne of thorns that had devoured so many heroes. She thought of Magno on that final night. And in her mind, she saw him raising his glass to the one who would one day sit here, and drinking deeply from the poison. Augusta didn't have many complicated thoughts in her mind. She hadn't borne hatred toward anyone. She had seen darkness for herself, but she also knew what light looked like. Her thoughts were simple— Only one who surpasses all heroes can be called a Hero of Heroes. And the throne's thorns were just another trial to overcome. She took her seat and, with steady hands, placed both the shackle and the crown upon her head. "Ephor Augusta, a message from the Senate. The Senators request an audience... to discuss urgent matters." The herald bowed before the throne. "Very well," Augusta said, smiling. She was eager to meet these "opponents" beyond the arena. "Lead the way." |
| One Day, In the Arena... | Augusta | For Augusta, life as a Hero of Heroes was not so different from before. When the brief celebrations ended, the mountain of paperwork still remained. However long the thrill of victory lasted, it would always be swept away by the quiet tide of daily life. But Augusta didn't mind uneventful days like these. The Agons still roared with passion. No matter the era, Septimont remained a nation that burned with fervor. Everything was moving toward a brighter future. Everyone was moving forward. And yet, Augusta still had one small worry. As Septimont's Ephor, she was more than ready to envision a shining future for her people. But as Augusta, she found herself lingering at the footnote of her own story. From childhood to now, she had walked the path of glory. And now, she stood at its end. She had fulfilled the ancient prophecy and become the Hero of Heroes she once looked up to. She had met those destined to walk beside her and overcome trials she once thought impossible. If one were to write a tale to be passed down through the ages, this might well be its conclusion. The final chapter of Hero of Heroes, Augusta. A perfect ending. One that left no room for regret. But life is not a play. It doesn't end just because the climax has passed. She had to wonder, and she wanted to wonder— When Septimont no longer needed Augusta, when this land began to give birth to new legends— When this story truly came to an end... What could she become next? With that question nagging at her, Augusta slipped away from the Ephor's Palace. She didn't choose a direction. She let her instincts lead. As she wandered, she kept thinking— Should she pursue even greater strength? Seek out new, formidable foes? Explore lands beyond Septimont? Or perhaps, when all was settled, lay down her sword and live out a quiet, contented life? So many possibilities. So many roads stretched out before her. By the time Augusta came back to herself, she realized she had walked to the arena. The place that held so many of her memories. Today was a rest day. The arena, for once, stood empty. No, not completely empty. As if drawn by some silent agreement, someone else had wandered in as well. {Male=His;Female=Her} eyes met Augusta's. And they both smiled, as if sharing a secret known only to the two of them. Just like that, all of Augusta's worries melted away. She didn't have the answer yet. But she still had time to find it. There was no need to rush. "It's been a while since I've stretched properly…" "Well, my dear friend—" "How about a long-overdue spar?" |
 The Patroller and the Taoist | Buling | On Jinzhou City's Main Street, a stall owner was still scrolling through forums when a girl with fiery red hair stopped at her stand. She glanced up over her slipping glasses and smiled. "Hey there, boss. Want to try something? Exorcisms, talisman readings, fortune-telling… You name it, I 'bling'—wait, you're a Patroller?" "That's right! Chixia, Jinzhou Patroller!" Chixia straightened with pride at being recognized, then quickly regained her serious tone. "I've had reports about you setting up a stall without permission, offering readings to anyone who walks by. It's almost like—" "A scam?" Buling's grin didn't waver. "…I wouldn't go that far. But I'd appreciate it if you came by the Patrol Station to give a statement about your… business." "Aiya, Boss, it's all honest work, building good bonds lah. Take that young fellow from Huaxu Academy who came yesterday morning. He asked me to divine his research project. By now, I'd wager he's on his way here to thank me." "Seriously?" Chixia began to question, but before she could finish, a young man in a lab coat came hurrying up the street and stopped at the stall. "Thank you, Master! My experiment finally succeeded—the data fit perfectly! I can finally publish a paper!" "No need to thank me," Buling said, waving him off. "That was all your hard work and persistence paying off." Under Chixia's astonished gaze, the researcher bowed his thanks several more times before hurrying away. "He just needed a little more confidence in his research, that's all," Buling said, nudging her round glasses back into place. All afternoon, Chixia tailed this suspicious stall owner as she guided a Lollo Logistics courier anxious about the career, sold a prosperity talisman to a travelling merchant, and read a local's palm for signs of love. Each request was different, Buling's answers just as varied, yet every customer left looking satisfied. By sunset, Buling began packing up her stall. She glanced toward the shade of a nearby tree and called out, "Relax. I've earned enough for now, so no more stalls for a while. And I'm starving. How about dinner at your auntie's place? My treat. But just so you know that I'm not ordering anything spicy." "Wait—how do you even know Mrs. Panhua is my… Did you divine that too?" Chixia stepped out of the shadows. "Oh, that?" Buling grinned. "She told me herself. Over lunch." Not long after, Mengzhou's wandering Taoist Buling and Jinzhou's famed Speedster Chixia would team up to tackle a so-called haunting event on Main Street. But that, of course, is another story. |
| The Way of Flexibility | Buling | Thick clouds smothered the moonlight that night, plunging the world into darkness. "It's right there, Master!" At his young disciple's cry, the aged Taoist shaped a quick mudra with one hand and leveled his peachwood sword with the other. Golden light leapt from the blade, streaking toward the corner of a wall. It struck something unseen, flared outward, and flooded the alley with daylight-bright radiance—revealing a Whisperin Tacet Discord crouched in the shadows. His eyes flicked to his disciple. She had already drawn a talisman and begun her chant: "Body and seal align, thunder at command… All evils, repelled!" The words had barely left her lips when a bolt of lightning split the sky, crashing down upon the Tacet Discord. Wrapped in thunderlight, the creature began to fade. Though her talisman was already spent, the girl stayed on guard, fishing a copper coin from her pocket as she stepped closer. "…Finally… home…" The broken whisper froze her in place. "Pull yourself together, Buling," came her master's deep, steady voice. "A Tacet Discord is nothing but a monster. It's no ghost, and certainly nothing human." She nodded, flicked the coin into the air, and another flash of lightning cleaved the darkness. The Tacet Discord vanished completely. The old Taoist's furrowed brow eased as he turned toward the house, whose gates were tightly shut. Three measured knocks. The door creaked open, and a silver-haired elder stepped out. "Master, was it really… my son who returned?" It was Buling's first time following her master down the mountain to "exorcise a ghost." On their way back to the sect, she couldn't help but ask, "Master, you always say there are no such things as ghosts. So why tell that lady her son's spirit came home to see her? And even pass along a message for her to live well?" "…That's called the Way of Flexibility. Someday, you'll understand." "Mm… Seems the world beyond the mountain really does hold a lot to see." "Heh… when you're strong enough to stand on your own and want to travel alone, then go," he said, grinning up at the endless stars. "Cultivation isn't confined to our temple's four walls. Your world should be far wider than this." At that, Buling's clear eyes filled with the same bright starlight. "…But if you ever stir up trouble out there," Master Jiufeng added quickly, "don't speak of my name." |
| Peers of Different Sects | Buling | That year's Martial Arts Championship took place on a lone peak straddling the border of Mengzhou and Jinzhou. The nearest edge of the Land of Xuanfang was still a hundred miles away or so, yet martial art sects from across the world flocked to the mountain. Rumor had it that even a reclusive master from Xuanfang might descend to watch. "Hehe, my disciple's a straightforward child, only knows how to throw punches. So please, tell yours to go easy on her," Master Shiling stroked his long beard and smiled. "Ah, I heard that the Fengyiquan Sect is full of talent, and Jianxin is undoubtedly unmatched. My own disciple just toys with coins and talismans, hardly worth anyone's attention," Master Jiufeng wasn't about to be outdone. On the ring, Buling and Jianxin faced each other. "Did you hear that, Jianxin? They're basically dueling through us," Buling whispered. "Maybe we should just qui—" "Understood," Jianxin was already in Fengyiquan's Calming Air stance. "Let's face this match with the respect it deserves. After you." Buling sighed and formed her hand mudras. Against Jianxin's flawless technique, she would only get one shot. Her Casket of Fate burst open—talismans whirled like a storm, lightning split the sky, and the Five Thunders Spell Array snapped shut around Jianxin. A breath later, Jianxin surged forward. Wind and cloud followed her fists. In the next instant, talismans shattered and the array crumbled. By the third breath, her fist hovered at Buling's side. "Well fought, Buling. Another round?" Jianxin said, bowing as she stepped back. "No need. I quit." Buling raised her hand in surrender. Later, Buling found a good spot in the stands, munching on New Federation popcorn as she watched the young martial artists clash. Jianxin tore through her opponents like a gale, already closing in on the reigning champion. "Why did you hold back?" The voice was cool and clear. Buling jumped, as she hadn't even heard anyone approach. A white-robed woman sat nearby, a guqin in her arms, her expression serene and detached, nothing like an ordinary martial artist. "If you triggered the talismans behind her, the match might have gone differently." "I wasn't thinking that far ahead at the time… Master," Buling answered with an awkward laugh. The woman simply nodded. She said nothing more, only stayed beside Buling and watched the rest of the matches in silence. |
| Earthly Immortal, Heavenly Sheep | Buling | Buling made friends with Encore on an unexpected occasion. Back then, she had just passed Camellya's test and arrived at the Black Shores archipelago for the first time as a Consultant. The Gardener who welcomed her mentioned a bit of gossip: people in the Haven of Sprouts had been whispering about faint, sorrowful female cries haunting the dorm at midnight. It wasn't serious enough to count as an emergency that required proper investigation, probably just a stray Reverberation rambling around. Still, on an island carved from a massive Tacetite, even a random Reverberation could twist into a dangerous Tacet Discord. Someone had to check it out. Buling, known for her sharp ear for these things, volunteered. That night, she waited in the dorm corridor, scrolling forums to pass the time as she heard soft footsteps. When she looked up, she nearly dropped her device: two "Wooly Ghost Guards" of black and white stood before her with ferocious looks. "Hooray! The brave Wooly Warriors have found a new team member," a cheerful voice said. Encore poked her head out from behind the plush toys, grinning. The truth turned out to be simple: a Tethys Terminal in the Haven had picked up an old cassette of ghost stories. A faulty signal module accidentally broadcast it over the dorm speakers, and thus the "haunting" event. By morning, a post went viral on the Black Shores' internal forum with its eye-catching title: "Turns out, the creepy midnight cries coming from the Haven of Sprouts are actually..." The poster ID was "Earthly Immortal," and the first enthusiastic reply came from "Heavenly Sheep." That was the day the now-famous mystery-busting duo was born. From the Black Shores to Huanglong and Rinascita, "Earthly Immortal" and "Heavenly Sheep" became legends by exposing hoaxes, chasing rumors, and unraveling every supposed haunting that crossed their path. Whenever people ask Buling why she chose to join the Black Shores, she just laughs it off. Her bestie Encore, however, always gives the same teasing answer: "She thinks if the Black Shores can clear all the 'ghosts' in the world, then she'll finally be free to roam wherever she wants!" |
| Free Spirit in Travel | Buling | Compared to the quiet temple on the mountain, the world beyond felt vast and unruly, alive with a thousand voices. Without her master's sheltering, Buling's first days away from home were uneasy and frustrating. Had she not rescued that Huaxu Academy researcher from Mengzhou, who repaid her with a prototype headset that muffled intrusive sensations, she might have suffered from those ceaseless whispers far longer. She drifted through crowded streets, learning the rhythms of modern city life step by step. Her master's words on flexibility became her compass: times change, and so must the sect. Talismans and tools should evolve with the world. Every so often, she sent her master some exorcist gadgets she bought or improved upon: a microwave alchemy furnace, an exorcism bell with a built-in alarm clock, or a fly-whisk that glowed neon at night. Her proudest creation was a voice-controlled peachwood sword, able to swerve midair at a single command, far more convenient than the old sword-riding techniques. Her master's patience eventually wore thin. One day, a letter arrived with just two bold words written in clean calligraphy: "UTTER NONSENSE." But when Buling finally returned to the temple, she found him waiting there—wearing that very sword on his back. Her journey stretched on, a winding road of self-cultivation. She crossed most of Huanglong, stood on the Black Shores, and ventured into the New Federation. She marveled at Mengzhou's endless waters, braved Chongzhou's jagged peaks, walked through rule-based nations, and wandered lawless lands where only the strong survived. Much later, in Rinascita, she received an assignment through the Tethys system: assist a Bloom Bearer from the Black Shores who, like her, had traveled far. From the start, she sensed {Male=his;Female=her} identity was more complicated than the records suggested, as {Male=his;Female=her} fate lines were tangled beyond divination. Their paths crossed again and again: in Septimont City with both bright and dark sides, in hunting grounds haunted by the Dark Tide, and in the ruins of destroyed Honami City. None of those places could be called peaceful. Buling thought of herself as a free spirit, roaming wherever whim led her. That Rover was different—no carefree traveler, but someone forever running from one storm to the next. And still, for reasons she could not name, she wanted to see that person smile, as if {Male=he;Female=she}, too, could take a moment to enjoy the journey. The quiet gathering at Shashou Cafe was one of those rare, unburdened moments. Where would their journeys converge next? Buling's hand hovered over her divination set, then she let it fall. When the time is right, their fates will meet again. And when they do, she will be there to offer {Male=him;Female=her} a steady hand, just as she always has. |
 Edgerunners | Rebecca | Unlike her brother, Rebecca never planned on becoming an edgerunner. They were both raised by the notorious merc known as Papa Sunrise—their only parent. But while he spent years hammering his legacy into both of them, Rebecca never shared Pilar's stubborn hunger to inherit their father's dream. She wanted freedom. She wanted cute things. She wanted to find her own dream in Night City... which meant she spent a lot of time butting heads with her old man. Life doesn't wait for anyone to make up their mind. When Papa Sunrise vanished without a trace, Rebecca and Pilar's lives took a sharp turn for the worse. They found themselves sleeping in the back of a busted-up car—once their father's loyal ride on every gig, now the only inheritance they had left. It was Wakako, the legendary fixer and long-time associate of their father, who threw them a line—or rather, a gig. She gave them a chance to prove they were worthy of Papa's legacy. But there was still a ways to go before the siblings could truly fit edgerunner-sized shoes. Just as Papa Sunrise had always warned, Rebecca was too emotional, too unpredictable, and far too hotheaded for Night City. She nearly tanked mission after mission; instead of following simple instructions from her fixer, she always chose to follow her gut. Pilar couldn't stand it, and the two of them would tear into each other after every job. But in the end, despite all the quarreling, she still wanted to help him achieve his dream. It wasn't until they fell in with Maine's crew that things finally started to turn around. Rebecca and Pilar's habit of jumping down each other's throats became the crew's daily bread—often a loud, profanity-laced background track to their lives. Others would wonder why they kept hanging out if they hated each other so much. But deep down, they really cared about each other. |
| A Diamond in the Sewer | Rebecca | Everyone who crossed paths with Rebecca came away with the same take: loose cannon, hair-trigger temper. David knew that better than anyone; he'd lost count of the messes he'd had to scrub clean after her. To an outsider, she was a different breed of edgerunner. She didn't care about the payout or the risk—as long as a job didn't cross her moral line, she'd take it. Slip into whatever role the gig demanded. One night, she was the innocent girl caught in the crossfire; the next, a bored punk looking for trouble at a bar. But she always preferred being the muscle. Point the gun. Pull the trigger. Sort out the details once the smoke cleared. Her recklessness drove her partners up the wall, but nobody ever really hated her for it. Not when she had their backs every step of the way. In Night City, surviving as an edgerunner takes more than a steady nerve; you need an edge that sets you apart. Maine had his hand cannon. Dorio, her fists. Kiwi had her tech. David had his Sandevistan, sure, but it didn't make him a killer. He was still a rookie, rough around the edges. He needed to learn how to handle iron, and he needed to learn fast. Rebecca was the natural choice to show him the way. As the crew's self-appointed weapons expert, she knew her guns like the back of her hand. On the range, she was surgical; in the streets, a bullet-storm of terror. When David realized he needed that extra bit of lethality to survive, she didn't hesitate. She threw him headfirst into the deep end. Walked him through every drill. Tried cramming a lifetime of survival know-how into the kid before the city could eat him alive. |
| Love, Death & Chrome | Rebecca | Rebecca never bothered hiding it. She had feelings for David—plain and simple. But for someone who lived her life like a live grenade, she was surprisingly disciplined when it came to him. She kept a level head. She knew she'd never be the girl he pined for. No matter what gesture, angle, or trick she pulled to show him how she felt, it was obvious his heart would never be hers. But white flags were never in her playbook. If she couldn't have him, she'd pour all that energy into keeping him alive. This was a task made all the harder—and more vital—after losing half her crew. One by one, familiar faces were reduced to cold names on a mausoleum wall. Even for a girl as tough as Rebecca, who had known loss all her life, it was too much to bear. She found a corner in a dead-end alley and emptied clip after clip into the dark, screaming curses like the noise could smother the grief clawing at her insides. Why had it turned out like this? Hadn't she paid enough? She didn't have a grand dream. She didn't care about becoming a legend. All she wanted—the only thing that mattered—was not to have to watch another person she loved flatline before her eyes. So when David started loading up on chrome, carrying Maine's torch as if it were his alone to bear, she couldn't stop the dread from curling in her chest. A leader of a crew? Some hotshot merc with military-grade hardware? No. To her, he was still just a kid. A cocksure gonk with dreams big enough to swallow him whole. And Rebecca wasn't about to let that happen. Not without a fight. With new chrome arms built to handle heavy recoil, she stepped up as his second-in-command. Ready to be both his sword and shield. To make sure this fool she loved didn't get himself killed. |
| Let's Go, All the Way To the Top of Arasaka Tower | Rebecca | The fear Rebecca had carried all this time finally became a reality. Even with David's freakishly high tolerance, his body couldn't keep up with the chrome he kept stacking. That, combined with the weight of the choices he had to make, sent him sliding toward the edge of cyberpsychosis. She wanted him to go easy on himself, terrified for his mental state, but David always acted fast—just like her. Their last gig was highly dangerous—if not impossible. But David insisted on having his way. Rebecca was furious, but there was no turning back. Only when it was too late did she realize the truth: they'd walked into a trap. Meticulously laid. Perfectly executed. They never suspected that their own crewmate had sold them out. When they learned Lucy had been captured, David went out of his way—and out of his body—to get her back. It was a suicide mission, plain and simple. The dominoes were already falling, one bad call cascading into an avalanche of disaster. There was no time to untangle the mess. No time to second-guess. Rebecca grabbed her iron, looked at that idiot who was ready to risk everything for the woman he loved, and let out a long, tired sigh. "...Fine. Sign me up, choomba. Into the fire." Night City would never forget that night. Their ride speeding towards Arasaka Tower, MaxTac units spraying lead at them from both sides. David burning the Sandevistan. Again. Again. Again. To carry out a plan so reckless it might as well have been a one-way ticket. Rebecca had no choice but to support him—to make sure he made it to Corpo Plaza alive. All beneath the neon glow of Night City bleeding across the skyline. Despite the odds, Rebecca held onto her hope. She bet it all on Lucy. One last time, she loaded her love and courage into the chamber. |
| Life in Limbo | Rebecca | After finding herself in the Somnoire, Rebecca knew immediately that she was dead. She chose only to keep quiet about it to avoid putting that weight on Lucy. "Saying it would only have twisted Lucy up even more. If she started feelin' guilty or sorry for me, that'd just piss me off." On the train tearing through the dream dimension, Rebecca shrugged and fed rounds into her iron, one by one. Outside the window, stars bled past—as bright and blinding as the neon that had once painted the Night City sky. She was on her way to save someone. Same old story. She was still fighting for Lucy, someone she couldn't understand but couldn't stop admiring, either. But this time, David wasn't beside her. And the girl they were going to save wasn't running away anymore. She hated admitting it, but somewhere along the ride, she'd figured out why she was really here. Even if David hadn't asked, she still would've picked up her gun and gone after that pain-in-the-ass netrunner. She was part of the crew. And the crew were the chooms Rebecca cared about the most. Choose her own path, make her own decisions—it's all she ever wanted. And she's gonna keep doing exactly that. No matter the risk, she will jump into fire if needed to save her friends. "A flying train, a talking kitty-cat, you and Abby... Heh, this crew of ours is scary stacked." "I told you, I'm not a cat, meow... And don't forget, the goal is to recover the Dream Band..." "Relax, I got it memorized! We turn that chrome-dome into scrap metal, right?" "You didn't catch a word, did you..." Rebecca flashed a crooked grin and scratched the white cat behind the ear, shoving her hands in her pockets as she plopped down next to you. Rover. "So, uh… kinda late to say sorry for dragging you into this, huh?" A fist bump. That was all it took for her to know she was forgiven. Rebecca smirked, swung Guts onto her shoulder, and strolled up to the train doors. "End of the line! Let's go do what we came here to do!" |
 The Secret to Excellence | Yangyang | In any social group, there are those who exude a convincing, reliable aura that convinces people they could achieve anything, despite not having started or done it before. Yangyang is one such person. "Yangyang? It seems... She can do everything so well." People would always say so. This trust probably stems from their experiences with her. Since childhood, Yangyang has excelled in her studies, including etiquette, music, literature, mathematics, and martial arts... She always ranked at the top in all subjects and exams every year. Even when encountering new knowledge or difficult problems, Yangyang never showed frustration; rather, she would actively try to solve any problem that came her way. Yangyang was always chosen to give speeches at her school's annual ceremonies. But, like everyone else, she would take a deep breath before speaking, hiding her nerves. Despite having some talent for understanding complex concepts, she lacked true genius. And while others may see her as successful and confident, she struggles just as much with everyday problems. In her first swordsmanship lesson, she struggled to control her swings and execute proper techniques. Despite this setback, she resolved to work even harder. For the next two months, she practiced 100 times a day and sought guidance from experienced seniors, humbly acknowledging her weaknesses. She then continued to practice with a reflective mindset, improving upon the deficiencies pointed out by others. Eventually, her muscles adapted to the pain and she could withstand several strikes from an opponent. And in another two months, Yangyang, once again, emerged as the top student in her swordsmanship class. Concerned individuals tried to console Yangyang, reminding her that life is not perfect and that she should be content with the affirmation and praise she receives. But Yangyang would kindly reject this advice, knowing that her drive came from within and not from seeking validation from others. Was she giving her all? Was everything done to the best of her ability? These were the questions that consumed her. With a smile and a gentle shake of her head, she would reject any advice to take it easy, determined to push herself to perfection with no room for regrets or shame. "That's our Yangyang, doing amazing as always. We knew you'd make it!" That was when Yangyang became an Outrider and successfully helped resolve a regional TD crisis. People praised her excellence as usual. "Yes, I did it this time, but how about next time? There are still so many things I could have done better; so many things I don't know. Perhaps I should go seek advice from senior members of the Midnight Rangers..." Being consistently reliable is daunting, yet crucial. It takes relentless effort and dedication. Yangyang is determined to give her all to achieve this goal. She strives to be the one others can seek help from anytime, and won't stop until she succeeds. |
| The Secret to Listening | Yangyang | Most people didn't know that Yangyang had a perfect pitch. Perhaps it was because how she was always a passive presence, never singing in public or taking the spotlight. She preferred to stay in the background and listen. It seemed like she was born to be a listener. That's why Chixia was shocked at Yangyang's ability to accurately hum a melody she had only heard. She couldn't help but exclaim, "How did you memorize that so fast? And it sounded amazing! Good heavens!" Suddenly, everyone remembered Yangyang's other identity, the second daughter of a family of musicians. It would be only unnatural if she didn't understand music theory or know how to sing. This revelation resolved some of the previous confusion. That perfect way of dealing with people, that etiquette which seemed faultless to even the most demanding people. Yes, of course, she had to come from such a well-educated family. However, it also begged another question: Why would the daughter of such a renowned family go to the border city alone, at the expense of her otherwise luxurious life and promising career? Was there an underlying reason that compelled her to leave? If there really was such a reason, Yangyang never mentioned it to anyone. She never complained or avoided responsibilities, whether when she fulfilled her Outrider responsibilities, or when she spent time with friends. If one had to say, it was her Outrider companions that bothered her more, because... She was always patiently lending an ear. Many sought solace in confiding to Yangyang, not seeking solutions but simply venting their stress. She knew this well and remained neutral, empathizing with the narrator's feelings. She listened without interruption, offering guidance when needed before returning to a silent role. With her help, the tangled emotions were untangled unnoticed. These cathartic sessions proved valuable. However, Yangyang's support was not blind agreement; she offered advice prioritizing the speaker's desires. Soon enough, Chixia told everyone else about Yangyang's amazing talent, sparking playful requests for a song. Yangyang shyly waved off their request, saying, "Maybe... I'll sing it for everyone later, when I am ready?" Yangyang looked sincere, so it seemed not just perfunctory or an excuse. It was truly what she thought from the bottom of her heart. But when would that be? Perhaps she wanted to wait until everyone else who wanted her to hear out their worries had finished talking? Understanding and critiquing performances requires a deep knowledge of music. However, being skilled in music does not necessitate taking the stage. So thought Yangyang, as she again chose to step back, allowing others to shine. |
| The Secret to Believing | Yangyang | To some extent, there isn't much difference between the sixteen-year-old Yangyang and the six-year-old Yangyang. She still holds the same expectations for the world, believing in fairy tales as always, believing in the goodness between people, believing in miracles, believing that all things beautiful will eventually happen. Many would call this naive luck, the thoughts of a spoiled child who has never faced the harsh realities of life. Indeed, Yangyang grew up in a privileged and nurturing home, shielded from suffering. Her life was perfect... ...Until that fateful day. At age 11, her tranquil life was shattered by a ruthless attack from Exiles while traveling with her family's caravan. The brutal reality of death and cruelty left her reeling as she fled and sought refuge among strangers in an unfamiliar settlement. These resilient people lived off the land, cautious yet resourceful. She was forced to fend for herself, adapting to this harsh new world at a young age. She couldn't tell if they were like the ruthless attackers or not. The constant alertness of these settlers made her question if it was safe to trust anyone. Dressed in fine clothes and alone, she stood out among them, and they too were suspicious of her. Could it be a trap? In the end, they passed food to her, and she took it, though she'd never seen anything like it. Kindness found its roots even in the most barren of lands. Yangyang wanted to repay the trust they released before her, but her knowledge proved not helpful at all in the wild, and her sword skills proved too childish against real hostility. Everything seemed entirely unfamiliar to her, yet this was the harsh reality most people had to face. The reality felt so overwhelmingly agonizing. "Grandma, have you... been living like this all the time?" As Yangyang tried to help an old lady sort out the meager resources they had, she couldn't help but ask this abrupt question. "Yes, why? City girl. You shocked? Relax. Everything will be fine." "But when? Will things really be fine one day?" "Of course. How will good things come true if you don't even believe them yourself? We were skeptical of you, too, but we chose to believe. It's the same for you. Gotta have faith in something in life. Even if you don't know how it'll turn out. That's what faith is all about." "When? Hm, maybe when you grow up, little one." So yes, perhaps Yangyang hasn't experienced enough hardship yet. Or maybe one's inclination to show kindness isn't based on past experiences, but inherent in their character. In the darkest of situations, some will show kindness simply because others choose to trust them. And this in turn will spark more acts of goodwill. Ever since, Yangyang always spread kindness to strangers, sparked by that one encounter. Of course, her kindness is not without boundaries. Betrayal can turn her warm breeze into a harsh storm. But she holds onto hope, believing in the power of goodness. She chooses to trust and expects the best from others. This is her chosen way to make the world a better place. |
| What Wind Taught Her | Yangyang | Yangyang had fallen into the winds three times. The first time was when she fell from her mother's arms. Shortly after Yangyang's birth, she was already surrounded by love. Her mother playfully swung her in her arms, pretending she was flying and landing. But when the swing went a little too high, Yangyang felt the whispers of wind and sensed an approaching storm, even before she could speak. As she landed, her babbling was mistaken for fear from the accident, but it was actually a reaction to the oncoming tempest. The second time was when she passed out from sensory overload. As she grew up, Yangyang's once vague sensing ability strengthened, allowing her to feel intangible airstreams in her palms. She called them the "Streams," and they gave her insights into energy fluctuations, anomalies, and even the smallest physical details of a person. Trapped in a self-destructive cycle, Yangyang yearned to explore her ability and gain more insight. But the more she tried to be thorough, the deeper she fell into a maze of details. What followed cannot be called a fall, for it was a descent through time, not space. The sensory overload lasted for months, between faintness and sobriety. Yangyang felt as light as a feather caught in a raging storm, perpetually falling. "I must focus on the key details within my reach, rather than trying to capture everything..." Finally, Yangyang pulled herself out of the never-ending free fall and safely landed. The third, but maybe not the last time, was when Yangyang leaped up and threw herself into the winds. The continual sensory overload altered her hair and taught Yangyang to tolerate the discomfort. Despite the Streams' excessive information, the recipient could sift through and extract crucial details. Signs of a struggle at the disappearance site, unusual fluctuations outside the city, and a steady rise in energy reactions... Yangyang had never used her ability in such a dire situation, but her determination to help overrode any hesitation. The Streams surged, forming a distinct line that led to a missing child, being chased by TDs and teetering on the edge of a cliff. Without hesitation, Yangyang leaped towards the precarious figure, stretching out her hand to save the child. Feathers danced in the air, carrying Yangyang and the child in a gentle yet powerful wind. The child looked around at the floating feathers and asked, "Are you the lark fairy that flies in the wind, miss?" Lost in memories, Yangyang smiled. She thought of the times when she fell into the winds, again and again. Perhaps she truly was one with the winds. |
| Answer Lies in the Winds | Yangyang | On her journey away from home, Yangyang met two kinds of people. The first kind always seemed in such haste, yet remained unsure where they were heading, and often ended up lost and returned in regret. The other kind always had a clear destination in mind. They always made it finally, despite arduous roads and occasional stumbles. Yangyang held up her head and looked at Jinzhou city on the horizon, unsure if she could be considered one of the second kind of people. Once again, she thought of the term "One Instrument for Life." "One Instrument for Life." That is the most important principle in Yangyang's family teachings. Originally, it meant that every family member could strive to excel in everything, but they must choose one musical instrument to specialize in and practice continuously throughout their life to become a master. As circumstances changed, the principle gradually evolved into dedicating one's entire life to one pursuit, striving for excellence to make this life worthwhile. Her mother's Instrument was composing. Yangyang had seen people dancing to her mother's songs. On the other hand, Yangyang's sister was already a successful figure in the chamber of commerce. However, Yangyang could not easily decide on her own Instrument as they once did. What was the thing worthy of dedicating her life to? What person should she be? She turned to her mother for help: Mother, do you want me to inherit the family business? Or, what do you want me to do? I can try anything and I will strive for excellence. Although life is full of infinite possibilities, in the end, we can only choose one path, right? Her mother looked at her with love and said, my child, it is precisely because of this that you should not seek answers from me, but rather ask your own heart. This is a difficult question, but you need not rush an answer. And so, Yangyang held onto her question, waiting patiently for an answer that seemed to elude her. She waited through her returning home from the desolate settlement, through the climbing out of an abyss, and through growing weary of her family's overprotectiveness. Her desire to join the world and experience its harshness grew stronger, no longer content with being a mere leaf drifting in the wind. She longed to bear the weight of reality, instead of hiding away from it. That was when a sudden ambush in the wilderness resulted in heavy casualties from Tacet Discord attacks on the frontline. News of this tragedy quickly spread through the city, igniting feelings of sorrow, anger, and despair among its inhabitants. Emotions boiled over, with people gathered around a bonfire. Tears flowed freely, hoarse cries echoed through the night. But by morning, grief became a luxury as life returned to normal. Yangyang stood among them, tears streaming down her face. She hadn't experienced any personal loss, but witnessing their sorrow and the joy of the rescued children stirred something inside her. It was a transformative moment, as she realized her true calling: to protect others, just as she had been protected before. She wanted to shield them from misfortune and give them hope for a brighter future. As Yangyang stood at the edge of Jinzhou on her enrollment night as an Outrider, she gazed at the sky and the bustling residents below. Doubt crept in as she questioned her ability to protect these lively citizens, a responsibility she had always dreamed of fulfilling. The Streams came from afar and gently held Yangyang in their embrace, dispelling her last bits of doubt. They silently whispered: Jinzhou is the place. It is the destination for Yangyang the wealthy daughter, and the beginning of her journey as Yangyang the Outrider. |
 A Bad Deal | Aalto | A bad deal. Or so it seemed. One day, Aalto became known for the intel he had on some ancient treasure. From naughty children to old men in their sixties, many wanted to buy that intel from him, but he politely turned down every offer. "Hey, little one. Better not spend your allowance on this. Let's get you home." "Sorry, gramps. I don't accept retirement funds." These people all assumed they didn't offer enough to pique Aalto's interest, but actually, he was simply waiting for the right buyer. Then, one day, that very buyer finally appeared, cloaked in layers. The man struck the deal with Aalto at a shockingly low price. Others were baffled by Aalto's willingness to accept such a bad offer. Days later, an electronic display in the New Federation police department office broadcasted the latest news: the long-sought theft ring had finally been caught. A cloud of mist crept into the police chief's office, obscuring the display. "Enough TV. It's time to settle our deal." The chief slammed a folder of files onto the desk, along with a suitcase filled with Credits. "That's quite a trick you pulled off back there. Tell me, Mr. Aalto, how were you so sure they'd take the bait? Touting valuable intel about the legendary treasure in broad daylight, weren't you worried about catching their suspicion?" "Don't underestimate cash-chasing gamblers. They'll risk it all, even their lives. Profit is worth any danger to them." The police chief pushed the files and suitcase towards Aalto. "Here's your payment, and the list of names you requested. Pleasure doing business." "Same to you." Aalto opened the suitcase, took out a single piece of Shell Credit, and flipped it into the air. Before the Credit could touch the ground, he had already transformed into mist, vanishing from sight. |
| A Fair Exchange | Aalto | A fair exchange. Under Aalto's rules. According to Aalto, every customer is equal. Be it a high-ranking official, an aristocrat, a commoner on city streets, or an Exile shunned by society, they are no different. Aalto never categorizes his customers into ranks — no high and low; no rich and poor. Treating every customer equally has always been his unwavering principle. Yet, there would always be those who try to test his limit. "Aalto, right? You're comin' with us." Aalto sensed the ill intention behind the visitor's approach, but he put on a welcoming smile as usual. "Aww... Sorry, pal, but that's a no-can-do. This customer right here was in line first." Suddenly, the other client was shoved aside as the thugs barged in, causing chaos and panic in the crowded room. The other patrons all fled, fearful of injury. Aalto quickly came to the victim's aid, guiding them to safety with a gentle hand. With a calm demeanor, he righted a toppled chair and casually draped an arm around the agitated thug's shoulder. "Listen, buddy, everything has its rules. I've got mine written down right here, see? 'First come, first served. No pushing or shoving.' What am I supposed to do with you breaking two rules in one go?" The thug shook his arm off, "If our boss wants to see someone, he gets what he wants. That's the rule we go by." Mist obscured the crowd as Aalto's words ended. He swiftly incited chaos, causing the thugs to turn on each other in panic. "Oops, my bad. I forgot to mention another rule: 'No hustling deals.' Let your boss know not to break any rules next time. Can't do business without them." With their tails tucked between their legs, the thugs fled, leaving Aalto to return to his usual welcoming smile. "Alrighty then! Let's pick up where we left off. What was it you wanted to inquire about again, good sir?" |
| A Perfect Duo | Aalto | A perfect duo. That's how they dub themselves. Whenever Aalto the information broker is brought up, people can't help but think of that little girl with pink ponytails. The two are almost inseparable, and their presence brings a burst of noise wherever they go. Outside a heavily guarded building, a man in sunglasses leaned casually against the wall, while the little girl next to him used her hands as binoculars to scan the area. "See the target? The one we're after." "Yuppers! Target sighted. Encore will get it done real quick, as long as Aalto doesn't drag behind me!" "Aw. Encore, you broke my heart. My plan is flawle—" Before he could finish, Encore had already dashed out with Cloudy and Cosmos, leaving Aalto's words hanging in the air. In the distance, Aalto could see Encore talking to the guard, making big gestures in the air, and occasionally pointing at him. When Aalto got there, the guard let him in and patted his shoulder. He looked sympathetic. "Buddy, must be hard raising your daughter alone all these years." Aalto simply nodded along in silent camaraderie. He took Encore inside the building without encountering any problems. "Why do people always believe your stories, Aalto? They all sound so fake!" "You see, my stories are tailor-made for each situation." "What's that supposed to mean?" "He's a single dad. He'd find that heartbreaking family tale you told super relatable. Also, what do you mean my stories are fake? " Cloudy and Cosmos jumped onto Encore's shoulders and sang a chorus of "Baa, baa baa." "Look! The Woolies think they sound super fake, too." "Well, fake or not, they got the job done just fine. Alright, here comes the real deal. Time to bring out your A game." "Woolies Adventure time. Let's do this!" |
| A Free Service | Aalto | A service free of charge. At least, that's how Encore saw it. Aalto is well-known to be a profit-driven broker. Pay enough money and he'd readily provide any information. And so, his potential customers always come with a hefty sum of money prepared. However, his desired payments can sometimes be unpredictable and bizarre — ranging from a black pearl to a cloud in the sky or even a piece of music. Some may throw a tantrum over the seemingly ridiculous request, but Aalto would simply show them the door with a polite smile. "My dear customer, ever heard of the saying 'amiability makes you rich'? You really need to mind your language. Besides, it's just business, not charity. If you can't be bothered with the payment, then I'm afraid we'll just have to do business at another time." Once, a ragged little boy paced back and forth of Aalto's door for several days. "Howdy, little man, what's with the long face? Let me guess. Lost your puppy?" "Wow! You really know everything! So, do you know where Pebbles went?" "You know, there's no such thing as a free lunch. You want my help, then you'll have to pay up." The boy shook his head, disappointed,"But I don't have anything on me." "Well, that's rather unfortunate... Let's see. How about you pay me after I find Pebbles for you?" Aalto's mist soon spread to every corner. Eventually, he found the lost puppy outside the city and safely brought it back. Beneath the twinkling night stars, a happy puppy ran to the little boy, wagging its tail in excitement. As today's story came to an end, Encore couldn't help but ask, "I didn't know you'd help people for free!" Aalto responded with a smile, idly twirling a small marble in his hand. On its surface was a roughly carved smiley face, reminiscent of a young boy's crafting. |
| Water the Flowers, Dear Guest | Aalto | "Welcome to the Black Shores! Would you like to start by watering the flowers, or saving humanity?" The Black Shores is situated on a remote island. Aside from the regular monsoons, currents, and butterflies, the island is only ever visited by the rising and falling tides. This uncharted area is not found on any world map. This secretive organization is dedicated to the lofty goals of world salvation: the kind people would only expect to see in tales. It's no wonder that people often struggle to believe Aalto, a seemingly unserious and elusive figure, is tied to this enigmatic group. To truly understand Aalto, one needs to see through his enigmatic exterior to uncover the kind and steadfast heart beating within. He was well aware that his mist alone could never hide the permanent wounds inflicted by the Lament on this planet. This is why he readily agreed to a long-term cooperation with the Black Shores upon first setting foot on the island through an invitation. So far, he has provided the Black Shores with a wealth of intelligence and helped them recruit trustworthy candidates to bolster their Think Tank. He will aid the Black Shores in putting together their plans... Until that person returns. |
 The Unyielding Will | Jiyan | Shortly after Jiyan's appointment as the Midnight Ranger's general, an unexpected Tacet Discord Outbreak occurred. It was during this battle that he suspected the Threnodian's resurrection. As the weary soldiers recovered from a fierce battle on the frontline, they were greeted by an ominous sight: shadow ravens circling above and swarms of Tacet Discords charging towards their position at the Norfall Barrens and Desorock Highland pass. The outnumbered army knew that failure to defend this stronghold could spell doom for the entire Huanglong. Even seasoned veterans had never faced a crisis as urgent as this one. Amidst the chaos, Jiyan alone remained composed. "All of you. Prepare to fight." "Absurd! If we lose now, it's truly over. We can still retreat and protect the city!" "Choose now: stand with courage, seize our chance. Or run and face defeat. For centuries, the Midnight Rangers have held this pass without retreat. Or do you prefer to go down in history as cowards?" The veterans left, their emotions ranging from disappointment to rage. Jiyan's resolve remained unshaken. He carefully studied real-time images from monitoring devices and noticed a connection between the Tacet Discords and the shadow ravens above. Quickly summoning the other commanders in the military, Jiyan devised a plan and led their coordinated army to face the enemy head-on. With precision, they used Sound Emulators set in a narrow valley to emit the shadow raven's frequency. As he expected, the Tacet Discords were drawn towards the sound, allowing for their easy capture. Meanwhile, the Midnight Rangers stationed at Norfall Barrens were instructed to join hands with their comrades in the Desorock Highland, and carry out a pincer attack on the Tacet Discords. In the midst of a sandstorm, Jiyan bravely fought off hordes of enemies, paving the way for his fellow soldiers with unmatched strength. The Tacet Mark on Jiyan's nape was flickering, a sign of Forte overexertion, but he pressed on. His Qingloong flew high in the sky like a proud banner of resolution, never once faltering to the ground. |
| The Reason to Fight | Jiyan | Jiyan is the youngest general in the Midnight Rangers' history. He is the Qingloong that everyone looks up to, and the invincible warrior no enemy stands any chance against. However, at some point, Jiyan became haunted by a recurring nightmare. In that dream, the city of Jinzhou was engulfed in flames and consumed by Tacet Discords. The monsters raged on, feeding on the frequencies of the dead. Chaotic sounds echoed throughout the city, creating a symphony of destruction. On the flame-lit battlefield, a lone figure fought relentlessly with a lance in hand. Each swing tore through the air. One, two, three... Hundreds of thousands of Tacet Discords fell under his fierce and restless strikes. Despite his best efforts, the man could not quell the endless swarm of Tacet Discords ravaging the land. Day after day, year after year, he fought in vain until he was the sole survivor on a desolate battlefield. The Tacet Discords transformed into his fallen comrades, encircling and closing in on him. "That's a clueless kid! How can we trust him with our lives?" "You said you would protect us... but why?" "Jiyan, what on earth are you fighting for?" Despite being known for his calm and decisive nature, few were aware of the nightmares that would sometimes jolt him awake, haunted by the voices of the dead. As the general, it was Jiyan's duty to safeguard not only the borders, but also the entirety of his nation. Every move he made and every plan he enacted carried immense responsibility and consequence. This is why he seems to be always frowning, thinking, and planning ahead. One day, perhaps, he will finally turn around and answer those questions from the dead. He fights for the living, and for the deceased. |
| Silent Caretaker | Jiyan | Strange things do happen in the Midnight Rangers' camps. A soldier with a knee injury received specialized pain relief patches from the medics each time the seasons changed, despite the fact that he never told anyone about it. Another soldier, previously inattentive during training, learned a few days later that the Midnight Rangers' General Affairs Department had paid for his mother's surgery. When the logistics department was short on funds, it received a budget increase notice for the next quarter before any budget request was officially made. Regardless of the size or age of the problem, there is always someone present to provide timely solutions when they are needed most. Just as a gentle rain quenches parched soil, this person carefully orchestrates aid and ensures that no area goes without assistance. "Team 3's captain obviously had difficulties using his left leg during the drill. I went through his operation records, and it seems to stem from his prolonged exposure to the swamp during one of the previous missions. Pass along this prescription to the medics. They'll know what to do." "Transfer some money to this account in the name of the General Affairs Department. Debit my account for the funding." "I remember there has been a 20% increase in the number of recruits this year. Verify this with the Logistics. If confirmed, adjust next quarter's budget accordingly." This is Jiyan, whose ruthlessness is reserved for enemies, while his tenderness is shown to comrades. |
| What's Inside His Gourd? | Jiyan | When asked about his childhood, Jiyan recalls a plethora of memories: the smell of medicine, the bright lights of the operating room, the sound of medical equipment clashing, and the hallway where many goodbyes were exchanged. Born into a medical family, Jiyan became his mother's assistant at the age of 10. He excelled at medical skills and was popular among patients, not only for his expertise, but also for his great ability to soothe their upsets and cater to their needs. Despite his exceptional medical prowess, there were still some lives that Jiyan couldn't bring back from the jaws of death—the last patient he couldn't save was Beiwang, his friend and mentor, who was heavily injured by Tacet Discords. Beiwang was initially known to Jiyan as the latter's patient, among many other Midnight Rangers who had to visit a doctor after fighting the frequent Tacet Discord tides plaguing the land. Beiwang was impressed by Jiyan's intellect and intuition, leading him to share details of the Midnight Rangers' marches and provide military instruction. Conversely, Jiyan actively contributed his analytical skills to strategy discussions, despite never experiencing battle firsthand. His unique perspectives injected vitality into their conversations, invigorating Beiwang's perspectives with a fresh outlook. Beiwang's passing ignited a transformative spark in Jiyan—his wistfulness, frustration, and regret turned into his strength to wield the lance on the battlefield. Jiyan began to realize that the Lament is such a deep-seated disease in the world's veins that not even the most sophisticated medical instrument or the most adept surgeon could remove it. This realization drove him to cure the world in another way—he took up arms and fought the Tacet Discords head-on, with unwavering resolve. Now, only the gourd-shaped pill case on his belt loop indicates that he was once a doctor. Speculations abound about the contents of the case, with some claiming he uses sugar pearls to comfort children and others saying he drinks from it after battles. If someone asks Jiyan about it, he would answer frankly, "Just some common medicines, in case someone needs them." |
| The Temporary Team | Jiyan | Amidst the lively Jinzhou Riverside Games, a group of young men stood together. "Here's the thing. Our captain's got an urgent matter to attend to, so we're one man short for the race. If you don't join us, we might have to forfeit." "Please, please help us. We've been training so hard for the Gulpuff Relay. So please..." "Yeah, please, Jiyan!" they chorused, their urgency palpable. Standing at the center was a bright-eyed young man. Meeting their sincere gaze, he nodded in agreement. Therefore, a temporary team was formed. The young man asked about each teammate's conditions and the relay order. Then, he decided to adjust the strategy and take on the anchor leg himself. The Games, initially held to relieve the tension of Jinzhou people after their first triumph over the Tacet Discord Outbreaks, had evolved into a major event in Jinzhou, in which the Gulpuff Relay was one of the biggest highlights. The whistle blew. The relay racers charged forward, skillfully evading obstacles as they piloted their Gulpuffs. Crowds of cheering audience lined the banks. However, a mistake occurred during the baton exchange between the first and second runners, leading the temporary team to lag far behind. "Oops, looks like this team's hit a little snag! As a temporary team, their teamwork might be a bit rusty. Pity for them!" The commentator then shifted his attention to the top three contenders. Amidst the cheers, the race reached its climax as the final runner of the temporary team swiftly closed the gap with their opponents, unnoticed by everyone. "Oh man! Look at the temporary team! There was a hiccup earlier, but now the last runner is overtaking! There's a key curve ahead... Wha-what's happening? He's overtaking everyone on the curve! That's absolutely amazing!" Undisturbed by the noise and excitement of the audience, he kept his eyes locked on the finish line. A single thought was driving him forward—faster, just a little faster. His heart pounded, drowning out the loud cheers. As confetti descended with a loud bang, the cacophony of sounds once again poured into his ears. They won! "Who could've imagined this temporary team would break the record! Congratulations to the young lads!" His teammates swarmed him in excitement, surrounding the young man. Raising the weighty trophy, they vowed to team up again for the next Games. |
 Untainted Soul of the Woods | Jianxin | The girl lived in the mountains. She slept under the sky, rested on the earth, befriended green hills, and played with animals. Agile and free, she roamed the fields with her animal companions. As Shiling ventured into the forests, a strange noise caught his attention. He glanced over and saw a child among the branches, with pure eyes and an innocent demeanor. Such a rare, untainted soul, untouched by the world's corruption. Enthralled by her gaze, Shiling cautiously approached, but the girl retreated higher, wary of him. Shiling noticed her thin frame and ragged clothing, so he pulled out a piece of flatbread for her. She eagerly snatched it, shielding it with her body in a feral manner. Her behavior seemed undomesticated, as if she had forgotten her humanity. In response, Shiling placed another piece of flatbread next to hers. Should I bring this child with me and make her my apprentice? Sitting cross-legged next to her, Shiling pondered while watching her eat the flatbread. But we are currently short on funding... It may be difficult support another child, he thought. Ultimately, he decided to let the girl choose her own path. "Hey, kid, you see this path ahead? This is the only path up the mountain, where my sect is located. Our founder spent every effort to open it up back then. If you can catch up with me and climb to its top before sunset, I will make you my new apprentice. How about that?" Despite his offer, the girl continued to eat as she blinked at him nonchalantly, as if she didn't understand what he was saying at all. Having set his heart on the promise, Shiling stood up and started to climb up the mountain. He looked back now and then, hoping for a change of heart from the girl, but she remained rooted in place, fixated on her meal. Disappointed, Shiling resigned himself to leaving her behind and continued on towards the top. As he neared his sect atop the mountain, faint laughter drifted from near the hall gate. Approaching, he saw his students crouched, offering water to the girl he had just left behind. "Master, you're back. Look, this kid climbed up the mountain all by herself." "W-When did she arrive?" "I don't know. I have been here for a while, and she was here before I arrived." Without saying anything else, Shiling extended his hand to the still girl, who remained motionless, not understanding the meaning behind his gesture. Shiling took her hand and placed it firmly in his. He guided her up, and they walked side by side into the hall. |
| Innocent Heart's Valor | Jianxin | The girl knows her life's purpose: to perfect one move at a time. All she wants is to master her martial arts, a feat that requires intense focus and dedication. It's a level of concentration that eludes most, but for her, it's the ultimate goal. "Master Deqing, any other misses in my moves?" "Three. Here, I'll show you once more. Do take note. You don't have to memorize everything right now, as long as you get it right in the end." "Jianxin, it's already late. Practice tomorrow." "I'll go back once I'm done with this! You should go rest, master!" In the darkening practice ground, the girl tirelessly repeated her moves. From cautious to swift, she practiced until they became second nature. The girl's pure heart guides her choices, free from fear and weakness. Her mind is simple, yet unwavering in its convictions. "Jianxin, he's too strong. Let's run. We'll let him have those supplies." Jianxin, however, prepared herself for a fight, "I'm not leaving. I know we're outmatched, but I want to give it a try." "What? A try? This is no joke! We're leaving!" "I'll try to take back our stuff without getting injured." "Wait! Ugh... Here she goes again..." |
| Benevolent Hand of Grace | Jianxin | One day, on her way up the mountain to collect some bamboo, Jianxin encountered another Taoist on Qingyang Bridge. She didn't know this person or where he came from. However, Rongfu, the Taoist, upon seeing Jianxin, stopped in his tracks. "You have potential indeed, but you are not yet a human," he commented. "Me? What do you mean? I am a human," Jianxin argued. "To love is human, yet you don't love," Rongfu stared into her eyes and said, "You are pure to the extreme, but still empty inside." "I know how to love. I honor my Masters and follow etiquette. I revere the elders in my sect, always trying to assist them." "When I said 'love', I meant to help those in need and care for the suffering people in this troubled world," Rongfu explained. "Master Shiling once said something similar. But what good does it do?" Jianxin questioned. "The best sages gain enlightenment in the military, the mediocre sages gain enlightenment in the bustling cities, and the worst sages gain enlightenment in seclusion. Tao cannot be attained solely through solitude or meditation. It is through real-life interactions with others that one can achieve both spiritual freedom and physical elevation. Seeking personal gain and lacking in meditation shows a misguided pursuit of Tao. Instead, seek insight into your path and strive for perfection in all aspects of life." "Then how can I learn to love?" Jianxin asked. "You have never left this mountain, have you?" Rongfu asked. "No," Jianxin replied. "Perhaps it wasn't time for you to leave. But now, the time has come. How can you truly attain Tao without truly experiencing the world?" Rongfu sat beside Jianxin, and the two of them talked for a long time on the bridge about what it means to love people. "Master Rongfu, long time no see!" "Jianxin, since our paths have crossed again, why not join me in helping those in need?" "Sure do!" Hearing their heartfelt thanks and feeling the warm touch of their unfamiliar hands, Jianxin knew her actions had made a small impact. A smile lit up her face, replacing any previous confusion. |
| Dilligent Devotion | Jianxin | "This is my final treat, Jianxin. You must provide for yourself and earn your own money for food from now on." "But Master, I don't know how to read palms or divine fortunes." "You don't have to make money by doing the typical Taoist stuff! You can do anything. You're a fast learner, and that's one of your strong suits." Jianxin traveled the world, working hard and using her earnings to support herself and help others. She took on even the most insignificant tasks with diligence and determination, building a strong reputation for herself along the way. "Hey Jianxin, tour customer flow has really improved because of you! By the way, could you share those dietary recipes? They've been a hit with customers and we can make them our signature dish. Here's your pay for the month, keep up the great work!" "Of course! I'll write them down for you." "Ever since you started working here, the shop has been so much cleaner. You're amazing! We're lucky to have you." "I used some cleaning tricks I learned from my previous job. Would you like me to write those down, too?" "By the way, did you know the last customer paid with a new invention from the Academy? A silver card!" "A card? What card? How did he pay?" "He just tapped it here, and boom—payment made." "Hold on, that's not a real thing. He's trying to pull one over on you for a free meal." "What? So that's not a new invention... I'll track him down and get the money back." "Just be careful, don't hurt him too much! It's not worth it for me!" "I won't go too far. Don't worry!" |
| All in One | Jianxin | Jianxin's relentless pursuit of martial arts excellence drives his growth. Yet, pushing the limits of mind and body can be a daunting challenge. Enlightenment is a solitary journey. Answers must be found alone, with one's own hands and unique approach. No one can aid her in this pursuit. "Listen to your heart and forge your own path. Life's lessons are more than chance encounters. Harness their power and let your soul flourish with wisdom." With Shiling's guidance, she embraced self-spiritual cultivation and let go of her past achievements. Taoism's natural principles taught her to appreciate and love the world around her, harnessing the emotions of others as her own strength. In a state of intense concentration, she relied on simple martial arts techniques to connect with the world around her. It was a near-madness state, but one that brought unity and harmony. Her fists and palms held the world and her ego, merging into one. Each punch carried compassion and benevolence, repeated three thousand times. Turbulent thoughts settled into a stronger spiritual power. She stood in the same place, mastering basic techniques three thousand times, regardless of the seasons. Sitting on the grass, she became one with nature. Breathing in harmony with the wind and feeling the vitality of the surrounding greenery, she entered a state of symbiosis. Mind, body, and environment merged into a natural flow, cultivating peace within. When the mind is calm, the strength becomes gentle. When the strength is gentle, the essence becomes solid. When the essence is solid, the spirit becomes vigorous. Now, Jianxin's martial arts practice has evolved beyond physical boundaries, fueled by a strong inner power that is impervious to external influences. In her world, every moment is focused and intense, a reflection of the vibrant natural world. Her punches move at invisible speeds, harnessing the power of wind with gentle force. Through her softness, she conquers all obstacles with love and reverence for the world around her. |
 Music and the World | Ciaccona | The little girl always loved to look up. Whether at the clear blue of day or the glittering blue of night. She once wondered to herself why, but the words she knew couldn't express how she felt. All she knew was a sense of awe at the great unknown and the mysteries that lay beyond... Eventually, she stopped wondering, for she had discovered that gazing at the skies was an inexplicable beauty in itself. With this discovery, she began to look up while reading, while sleeping, even while walking... "Hey, hey. Eyes up front, Ms. Ciaccona. Why do you keep staring at the ceiling? Watch where you're going!" After taking a hard bump to the head, young Ciaccona decided it would be best not to stare at the sky so much... at least not while walking. The next time she looked up, she saw something that would become her lifelong passion. It was an ordinary afternoon when Ciaccona pushed open the door of her father's study. The object tucked away on top of the cabinet was the first thing she noticed after looking up. She took it down nice and slowly—it was a violin and her first encounter with an instrument. Picturing how her father had played it before, she decided to give it a try. "Screech..." It was undoubtedly a harsh sound. Yet she felt a peculiar sensation, like she was sinking toward the bottom of the sea. All sounds but the violin began to fade away. The light and shadows of the setting sun blurred. The world before her eyes seemed to draw its curtains, and by the time they opened again, a new world appeared before her. The air was filled with dancing music notes, and in the distance, a group of people played music. "H-Hello?" No one responded to the young girl. She walked closer, and though their faces were blurry, the melody seemed familiar. "It's a piece Father often plays. Composed by our family." Young Ciaccona recalled the music's origins. The group seemed unaware of her presence as they played, surrounding the girl with melodies that sounded of cries of newborn babies, and life's joys and tragedies... "Thud." The music came to an abrupt stop at the sound of a door opening. Noticing the violin in Ciaccona's hands, her father gently patted her head with a slight look of resignation before putting it away. "I'll teach you how to play when you're a bit older," he said, taking Ciaccona's hand and leading her out of the room. Just before the door closed behind them, Ciaccona turned around and waved goodbye to the violin. From that day on, Ciaccona began searching for information about the music. The more she learned, the clearer her visions became whenever she touched an instrument. She never told anyone what she saw that day. It wasn't until much later that Ciaccona learned it was due to her Forte: the power to recreate the past through melodies. People of different times, brought together through music and poetry. It was the greatest miracle the girl could have ever imagined. |
| Poems and the World | Ciaccona | With a quill in hand, the young girl leaned on her desk, feeling the nib's metallic cold against her fingertips as her thoughts withered away in the barren deserts of inspiration. Outside her window were busy crowds, birds, the wind, and Acolytes in prayer... In Ciaccona's eyes, they were scenes that could be transformed into words and punctuations, yet they refused to string together into sentences. The words were hollow and lifeless when placed side by side. That was... far from poetry. "Lady Ciaccona. May I trouble you for a moment?" A maid knocked on the door, entering the room after receiving a nod from the girl. "I was wondering if I could ask for a favor, since you have a way with words. Could you help me write a letter? It's for my family." Ciaccona motioned for the maid to sit down and began to write on a blank sheet of paper: "Dear..." When the maid received a return letter from home, she shared it with Ciaccona. Together, they began to write a second letter... What poured forth were heartfelt snippets of the maid's life and thoughts. Ciaccona smiled with the maid's joy and wept with her sorrow. Word of Ciaccona's prowess spread, and more people came to her to write letters. She grew to understand each person's intents more deeply. For those seeking to send a letter to the sailor at sea, her quill carried the salty taste of the sea. For those seeking to send a letter to the father working in wheat fields, her ink bore the scent of wheat. She kept everyone's stories a secret, of course. Before she knew it, she discovered the words in her letters were becoming more like poetry, forming a soul. She picked up her quill and glanced out the window once again, but the scenery remained stubbornly unchanged, and the piece of paper before her remained blank. A knock sounded at the door, likely someone with another letter request. As the girl got up to answer, the voice of the visitor blended with the sound of the creaking floor, and at that moment, she understood what had been holding her back for so long. Before she could write, she needed to first listen. "Coming! Who would you like to write to today?" Ciaccona smoothed out the creases on the paper as the wind carried the prayers from the Cathedral of Mercury into the room. She continued to be moved by the joys and sorrows of countless stories, all the while searching for the romance and soul within their verses. |
| Fate and the Door | Ciaccona | The young girl stood anxiously before the door. Still, she stood on tiptoes and slid the key into the lock. With her father and the rest of the family preoccupied with choir rehearsals, and no one around to keep an eye on her, Ciaccona knew this was her only chance at opening this door. The door slowly creaked open, revealing nothing but darkness inside. Ciaccona braced against the wall and felt her way to the light switch. Her father had forbidden anyone from entering this room. He told her it was his abandoned study, one he never had the time to clean out. He warned that the floorboards were so rotten they might break underfoot. But this wasn't enough to deter young Ciaccona's curiosity. Just as she had read in a poetry book: "Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light..." The lights flickered on, lighting up the room. Immediately, Ciaccona knew her father had lied. It was indeed a study, but it was immaculate. Bookshelves towered along the walls and various instruments slept in corners. It was a paradise for a girl with so much love for poetry and music. She gently touched the instruments, waking them from their long slumber, and began to skip and sing. Right, then left... until she collided with a bookshelf. A book fell at her feet, and Ciaccona opened the first page. "This anthology is attributed to the Golden Anthem. May these poems bring a glimmer of hope for those strayed from their destined paths..." Ciaccona repeated the preface, captivated by the words. She quietly sat down, turning page after page, and as she did, her own destiny began to turn as well... |
| For the Stories, She Shall Sing | Ciaccona | "The knight, clad in battered armor, stumbles toward his homeland. Step by step, he leaves behind one footprint of determination after the other along the path ordained by the Divinity. What is destiny? The knight did not know. In this very moment, if the Divinity were to grant him a blessing, he would have but one wish—To return home a hero, and live the simple life he once knew..." Ciaccona's narration ended as the music faded. Applause erupted around her like sparks leaping from a bonfire. "Ciaccona, are you going somewhere else tomorrow?" The children gathered around her, eager for more stories. Ciaccona had grown into a wandering bard, planting the seeds of poetry and music wherever her journey took her. The fair winds guided the shepherds home, while the rolling clouds carried their thoughts across distant lands. The gentle rain, veiling tears, awaited the dawn. The knight, with courage unyielding, charged toward the river's edge. The loaves of bread, heavy with parting, bore the family's silent sorrow. The birds in the sky were the souls of Rinascita, striving, wings spread boldly even through the storm. Ciaccona sang of tales far and wide but never once spoke of her own. When asked about her past and why she became a bard, she would always smile and reply, "Let the past stay where it belongs." When the time comes for Ciaccona to finally unveil her past, the stories hidden behind her family name may become the most heart-wrenching chapters of her life. |
| For Herself, She Shall Sing | Ciaccona | "Music itself holds no emotion. It's the heart that grants it meaning. So, dear listener, tell me. What feelings did my piece evoke in you?" In Egla Town, countless people may meet and part with every passing moment. As a wandering bard, Ciaccona had always been an observer of stories, witnessing their beginnings, progression, and endings... Until one morning, when she glimpsed an outlander from afar in the morning light, she knew that a new melody was about to sound. That was Ciaccona's first conversation with you. But to her, it may not have been the first time the two of you met. Under the night sky ablaze with fireworks, she witnessed the masked outlander claim the Laurel, outshining the stars and sparks amid the crowd's cheers. What defines a hero praised in legends? Is it strength? Courage? Kindness? Or justice...? Those qualities all converged on the radiant silhouette standing before her. "If given the opportunity, I'd like to write a poem for you, Laureate." The gentle breeze of Whisperwind Haven silently rides along the tides, passing over windmills and chimneys, then sweeping across the wilderness until it reaches a red-haired girl with antlers. She plays her lute among dancing birds, and the lingering wind soon carries her song to distant places. "In her world, poetry and music each hold equal sway..." As the girl with antlers watches you and Carlotta emerge from the wind, something tells her she too might soon be swept into a story. Bards have always remained in the shadows as observers of another's legend. But stepping out from the pages, Ciaccona finds herself drawn into a story. There is both excitement and a hint of unease. This time. For herself, she shall sing. |
 The Knight's Faded Hours | Cartethyia | A retired dramatist enjoys telling a certain story: Once upon a time, in the countryside of Egla Town, there was a wandering knight. With sword in hand, he journeyed far and wide in search of a legendary giant. A giant who stood as tall as a windmill, with arms long and slender like its blades. Time after time, the wandering knight fought with everything he had against the giant, but the giant never spoke a word, only ever waving its arms, rendering the knight's attacks futile. Some mocked the knight's foolishness, some pitied his delusion. After all, that so-called giant was nothing more than a windmill, and his battles were but a fantasy. But the countryside's most mischievous girl saw it differently. She found herself a knight's helmet and begged the dramatist for a small wooden sword. "To fight for such a giant," she said, "he must possess a heart of pure nobility." And so, she too wished to be like the knight, to seek out the giant who destroyed homes and scattered livestock, and see that the Golden Thiefbats lurking along roads could no longer steal a single treasure from travelers. Riding flamboyantly on a Tumbleyak, she raced through the wheat fields. The world had never felt so vast. This was where the Blessed Maiden's legends began. Through the fields, through the festivities, and into the Inverted Tower. It would be a grand quest. |
| Steadfast in the Final Dance | Cartethyia | This quest continued for some time. In those unnoticed moments, the girl visited every field in Whisperwind Haven. Mischievous and free-spirited by nature, she even stole sips of sacramental wine under the watch of guards, danced away on high platforms, and turned a solemn ceremony into complete madness. Even the Order's prison walls became her personal canvas. "She's really the most rambunctious girl in the countryside," people would say. "A serious fate isn't one she's meant for, and no wall, no matter how strong, could ever keep her from spreading her wings." Yet to everyone's surprise, she was chosen by the Divinity. Why her? Some questioned. She was only the daughter of an official, a peasant girl lacking discipline! Not a drop of noble blood ran in her veins. How would she ever come to understand the hierarchies of the world? "She is the one!" others exclaimed. "She listens to our sorrows and replaces them with joy! If anyone is worthy of Divinity's crown, it is her." But what would the one bearing the name Fleurdelys think of all this? Before the ceremony to receive her holy name, in a dull and stuffy hall, she performed her final dance as Cartethyia. Was she confused by Divinity's whispers? Fearful of an uncertain future? Confident that she could wield the sacred sword? She simply kept the name "Cartethyia" hidden deep within her heart. Farewell, grain fields swaying in the breeze, and the Tumbleyaks roaming so free. In a world so vast, someone must take up the sword. Someone must bind themselves in thorns. Someone must accept the weight of responsibilities. Someone— Must become Fleurdelys, the guardian of Rinascita. |
| Hesitation Amid Gale and Tide | Cartethyia | As Fleurdelys, she must march to war with a sword in hand. For this, she learned everything she could. She studied Order scriptures and honed her combat skills. She listened to the voices of the people, devoting herself to fulfilling their wishes. When someone prayed for good health, she arranged for the delivery of valuable medicines. When someone sought peace, she would listen to their confessions, taking in their past sorrows. When a Tacet Discord Outbreak occurred, she drew her sword and crushed it in its infancy. These actions were no different from what she had done back home. The only difference was that she was no longer facing a small village or familiar faces. Most of those seeking her help were strangers, and she understood that each of them was like a small lamp. The more she helped, the more they would shine in the night sky of Rinascita. Yet, the world was so vast, and the Order was far from flawless, as the books had claimed. The nobility were fixated only on their own interests, and self-proclaimed devout Acolytes merely performed their faith, turning a blind eye to the people's cries. She saw nobles who boasted of their good hearts while stuffing their pockets, refusing to hear the pleas of those suffering. At times like these, all she could do was tighten her grip on her sword. She experienced doubt, disturbance, and disappointment. And because of this, her grip only tightened as she faced the Dark Tide—She would question the Divinity. She must. No matter the answer that awaited her, Fleurdelys was ready for it. With this resolve, she walked into the tower. Alone. |
| Yet Within Solitude | Cartethyia | She seemed to have dreamed for a very long time. In that dream, hymns and praises poured toward her in endless waves, engulfing her. She raised her sword to cut through the waves again and again, battling the giant sea creature in those waters. She fought with all her might. Even when the waters turned into blades sharp enough to slice flesh, she did not take a single step back. When she opened her eyes, she found herself alone in an unfamiliar place. Where was she? What was her purpose? Who was she? Questions whose answers had slipped beyond memory. She wandered the tower in search of what was lost. She even tried to find a way into the central tower to seek answers. But after exploring every corner she could reach, she found nothing but herself. There was no "other" existence. She was the only soul there. So she began to converse with herself. She stitched dolls from scraps. She invented stories. Curiously, the fog of her memories began to lift, little by little, beneath her fingertips. She made one doll of a sword-wielding girl and another of a sea monster. She muttered a few lines of dialogue between them, then paused. She knew this story. She'd heard it before. The sword-wielding girl had journeyed to confront the terrifying giant of legend. Time and time again, she fought it with everything she had. No matter what the sword-wielding girl was fighting for, she understood one thing— Each time she raised her sword, she did not care about her past. She only cared about what needed to be done at that very moment. And if that were true, then losing her memories was no great loss. In a world so vast, she would find herself again. And when that time comes, whether she turns out to be the warrior or the monster, it's an answer she would be willing to accept. |
| The Wandering Knight Marches To Freedom | Cartethyia | Inside a small restaurant in Whisperwind Haven, a young girl orders several Laurus Salads. While waiting for her food, she quietly sneaks into the kitchen, following the head chef and carefully observing her culinary techniques. "Hmm. A few more of these Viscum Berries, please. Ah, yes, yes. And another!" "You can add more honey as well... Yes, thank you!" "And where did you come from, little rascal? If you're waiting for your food, you need to wait outside." The head chef puts down her utensils and looks up, pausing in astonishment. The girl before her seems familiar, but she can't quite place a name. "I-I'm so sorry! I just wanted to pick up some of your cooking skills. I have a long journey ahead of me, and I might not have the fortune to come across a restaurant serving such delicious food again. If my apology isn't enough, I'll chop some firewood for you instead." "Is this your first time eating at our restaurant? I have a feeling I've seen you before." The head chef hands the curious girl her food. "Was it from that stained glass window...?" "This isn't my first time, actually! But it's been quite a while since I last visited," the girl replies, taking the plate. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Cartethyia. I'm a wandering knight preparing for a new quest. If you ever need help, do let me know." "I just had to try this before I begin my journey!" The girl scoops up a spoonful of salad and takes a bite. In a world so vast, a salad full of Viscum Berries made the beginning of her journey feel just right. "How delicious." She praises from her heart. |
 At First, She Closed Her Eyes | Iuno | Iuno awakens as if pulled from the deep water. Air fills her lungs little by little. The stone steps beneath her feet are cold and solid. Every growing trace of sensation surprises her. Too vivid, too real. To disappear means nothing remains. The past, the present, and all that might have been... nothing but silence. She has already accepted that cost and her vanishing. So why, like some sunken, waterlogged remnant, is she still here? In fact, she doesn't even know where she is. Everything around her looks normal, yet carries a heavy and sluggish pull, as if time might stand still at any second. Only the path beneath her continues. It's damp, cracked, yet stubborn. So she walks. Each step feels like treading on cooled bones, carrying her deeper into the unknown. Keep walking. That was what Iuno did most as a child. She walked over stone, moss, petals, even across bubbling springs. She never needed a reason, never chased meaning. She simply couldn't sit still. Just the thought of unseen places and untried things filled her with joy. She wanted to feel everything. Her mother, Sibylla, was perhaps the only one who truly knew how to raise a child like that—free-spirited, wild, yet never arrogant. Sibylla bound her with no noble rules. She let Iuno run wild and embrace her longing. There was never just one path. Whichever one Iuno chose, her mother waited at the end. That day began like any other. Young Iuno darted up the stairs, running straight into her mother's arms. Sibylla bent down to pull her close, her hand on the back of her head, her voice warm. "My Iuno did wonderfully as usual." Of course she did. Iuno blinked proudly. That Grandmother Lillibet had said she'd be the most gifted Priestess Septimont had ever seen. But... why just Priestess? Why couldn't she be gifted in something else? Back then, Iuno still held a pure, innocent curiosity toward prophecies. She was too young to realize that to be favored by fate was a cost in itself. But fate was tired of waiting. Iuno's smile froze. She saw her mother coming apart, unraveling. Flesh sloughed off like melting wax. Blackness gnawed at her, but what spilled wasn't blood. It was darker and thicker than night, surging forward as if it would flood into Iuno's eyes the next second. She stumbled back, then shut her eyes tight. It was too dark, too cold, too close. She clung to her mother's sleeve, trembling. Then, she forced her eyes open again, and everything was normal. The tide of fate had swept over her, sudden and unannounced. And just as swiftly, it had receded, leaving behind only the faintest touch. She would speak of what she never truly saw that day, again and again. And her mother would only smile and smooth her hair. "It's alright, my dear. You've seen enough." And then, in a support operation, her mother was taken by the Dark Tide, drowned in the endless filth. Those comforting words sank with her and never rose again. Iuno replayed that ordinary day countless times. When had the gray calcified matter begun to creep across her mother's body? When did the blackness first start to flow? Was that the key? "If I had known… could I have saved her?" "What if... I hadn't closed my eyes?" Young Iuno stands once more on the stone steps and looks back. She opens her eyes wide, trying to etch the missing part into her gaze. But even now, in the realm devoid of reality, she sees nothing. "One more chance." Her voice is barely a whisper, like it wants to dissolve in the damp air. Maybe she speaks to herself. Maybe to something else entirely. "Just give me one more chance… Let me see it." But fate never looks back. Only the path below remains, layered like bones, pulling a shadowed figure closer with every step. That is Iuno herself. She comes forward, step by step, passing the spot where her mother always stands waiting, toward the younger version of herself. The pull is nearly paralyzing. Soon, everything might return to silence. But it is alright. There is still enough time for one response. She has been pulled from the depths. And in this brief breath, she chooses to pull something up in return. Iuno kneels. The child before her has tear-bright eyes, lashes trembling, as if they might shut again. She reaches out and gently taps those small eyelids. "Then, just don't close them." "No matter how dark, how cold, how close… Don't close them." Suddenly, the wind rises. It blows from nowhere, across the tallest spires, through the low trees, and stops, just there, upon the layered steps. Just enough to dry the corner of Iuno's eyes. |
| I Offer You the Bitterness of a Moongazer | Iuno | Once again, Iuno awakens as if pulled from the deep water. Ever since the moment she first met her younger self and answered her, Iuno has begun to relive more and more of these strange awakenings. Sometimes, she sees the past. Sometimes, she sees herself. But more often, she is simply made to bear it all again as she is, reliving memory as if it were the present, again and again, until everything slows, until silence swallows her whole, until the next awakening comes. She grows used to the cycle. It begins to feel almost normal. But still, a quiet absurdity lingers. No one else remembers these moments stripped of meaning. Yet they cling to her, the one who chose to disappear. She alone is made to carry them in endless cycles. Is this fate's cruel trick? Or punishment for vanishing? But there are no answers. She is awake again, and that means another fragment of the past has caught up to her. That day, the rain was heavy and cold, but it didn't stop the crowd from gathering inside the Tetragon Temple. They had come to witness the arrival of the long-foretold prodigy, soon to join the ranks of the Priestesses. That day, Iuno heard more about the Priestesses than ever before: awe, reverence, and fantastical rumors. Some claimed that Priestesses could glimpse the ultimate truth and discover perfection buried within despair in their final moments. After all, Priestesses stood closer than anyone to fate, to the future, to the unknown, and to the right path. That alone was enough to stir envy. But to Iuno, half of those claims were lies. And the other half, delusion. Because the night before that very day, while resting in the garden with the others, she had witnessed a Priestess's death. A white dove had landed beneath the ancient laurel tree, its wings fluttering, barely covering the sound of weakening sighs. The dying Priestess turned to her, voice faint, and whispered: "You... you're not like us. You were born able to see. So go. See it for us." "I will," Iuno replied, almost inaudibly. It was something she could do. But the one who heard her promise would never live to see it fulfilled. So yes, even those who walk beside fate, future, and the unknown in between aren't always stronger than others. They can't always see how it ends for themselves. And they, too, long for an answer. Prophecy is both a chain and a key. Iuno wants to hold the key. But if she can, she also wants to break the chain. That was why she chose to become a Priestess, yet was unbound by others' expectations or ideals. That day, she wore not the ceremonial robe, but an ancient garment adorned with satin and gold. Not as a supplicant of fate, but as someone who dares to meet its gaze. She stepped forward, candelabrum in hand. Whispers stirred through the crowd. An Elder, rigid with tradition, muttered with disdain, "Insolence... How can she be so lacking in humility?" Iuno heard him. And for the first and last time, she answered: "One who sees needs not kneel." She raised her head. Her grey-blue eyes, with the light shining down from the Temple's high dome in them, were sharp as blades, gleaming as if eager to cut something open. After that day, she began her long, unending dredge through the tide of chaos, reaching into the unknown for clarity. She saw more of the future. They were fragmented, frightening, and inescapable. She passed these visions on. Those who received them treated her words as scripture, a hope to clutch at. But Iuno knew better. They were only glimpses, fleeting slivers of fate slipping through the cracks. And the more she saw, the more she realized that these visions were just like blades. If one wielded them without cutting something open, they themselves would be cut instead. Since then, Iuno has never closed her eyes again. But deep inside, she begins to feel something tearing at her too. Maybe it's memory. Maybe it's the name people call her by. Maybe it's just a piece of herself that fades a little more each time she looks too closely at the world. Still, she is not afraid. She stands in the wind of Septimont, rain clinging to her lashes like silver threads. Grandmother Lillibet once told her she was born to see it all. And she has. But now, she wants to see something else: Whether she can walk away from the blade and live to reach somewhere further. |
| With Uncertainty, With Danger, With Defeat | Iuno | Before the High Tide truly surged, Iuno was the first to foresee the devastating future. The ominous creatures spawned by the tide were as dark as a moonless night. Gladiators fought with everything they had, but it was no use. Every time their weapons were about to pierce the Dark Tide creatures' bodies, those things would scatter and melt back into the tide, only to merge and be reborn. All they left behind was a trail of sneering, glistening sludge at the Gladiators' feet. Some things in this world won't bend to your will simply because you see them coming with perfect clarity. That night, Iuno barely slept. In her dream, it wasn't the creatures drowning in the Dark Tide. It was her. The tide swallowed her mouth and nose, drawing her down inch by inch. She had never known how deep it went. When her feet finally touched the bottom, her eye caught a colder, sharper version of herself standing on the other side. "You really believe that to see is to save?" The other Iuno smiled. In her eyes were countless shattered versions of Septimont—burned, sunken, rebuilt, and collapsed again. "You can see everyone… except yourself." Iuno tried to reply, but no sound came. The Dark Tide still churned across the Plateaus. Gladiators charged time and again, always to little avail. More and more people gathered in the Tetragon Temple, waiting for her and the other Priestesses to offer some prophecy, something useful. They spoke of finding the end by tracing the beginning, of altering outcomes by understanding causes. They wanted to shape a better fate, but Iuno found herself speechless. She saw her mother's figure before buried by the Dark Tide. She saw buildings collapse, crowds scatter, and arrow after arrow loosed from her bow, each one engulfed in darkness before it could land. Nothing had changed. She could see. But that was the only thing fate had ever allowed. Another white night. Iuno sat again at her divination table. Ripples spread across the water. In the silence, she thought she heard a whisper: "You can see it all… but if you only watch, what does that make you?" For a moment, every piece of foretold future in the past rose in her mind once more. Stone walls etched with insight stood still. Scrolls spilling over with prophecies unfolded. Threads of fate's light twisted around her. And she looked up, toward where it all converged. She saw the moon reflected overhead, the only thing that ever gave her direction. Perhaps that was the closest thing to the deep, unfathomable fate itself. It never gave her answers. But this time, she didn't need one. "If I can't change what I see… then let me shatter it." So she raised her hand and severed it all. Drawing every line of power she could wield, with a reckless, defiant smile, she plunged the arrow downward. The arrow struck without fanfare, but in that moment, it pinned the once hidden path of the Dark Tide, and nailed it between Septimont and destiny. For the first time, the monsters didn't slip away unseen but were torn apart, inch by inch, by the crackling blue-white light. But the cost? After the battle, at a camp in the Plateaus, people raised their glasses in relief. The fire crackled, voices overlapped, and the celebration swelled on its own. Iuno stood at the edge of it all, away from the brightest flames. Someone noticed her. "...Who's that?" "Are you stupid or what? She's that Priestess… Wait, what's her name again? Iuno?" "Iuno the Priestess? You mean that prodigy everyone talked about?" "Weird. How could I've never heard of such a household name?" A young Gladiator approached hesitantly. He raised a glass with polite care, his voice unsure. "You… you were with us earlier, right? Anyway, just come join the celebration." Iuno raised her eyebrows and said nothing. She just lifted her glass and clinked it against his. Later, outside the lantern light, she sat alone by the lakeside, chin resting on her knees, laughter hidden in the crook of her arm. She looked back at the path she had taken and the shadows that had followed her. Some were blurring, others had already cracked. She heard people calling behind her, but none of them used her name. She saw the eyes that had once met hers, now drifting away in confusion and unfamiliarity. Just not long ago, they had called her "Iuno" with such certainty when she gave her prophecy. They had stood with her before the arrows flew. And yet, everything they'd been through and survived was fading. By the lake, she traced the surface with her fingertip, ripples breaking the reflections. She saw herself in the water. The outline was clear, but always veiled. She reached into the water, trying to touch the face. The moment her finger brushed it, the reflection shuddered, as if trying to flee. "Don't run," Iuno laughed at the water. "Even you can't recognize me now?" The surface rippled again, as if the reflection whispered back: "Do you want to be remembered?" Iuno said nothing. She just brushed the water again, trying to make the image clearer. But her finger only shattered the surface, scattering the reflection with it. "…Doesn't matter." After a long silence, she muttered softly, then tilted her head back, glaring at the moon. It hung above like a silver coin, bitten at the edge. A symbol of imperfection. Iuno smiled at it, like greeting an old rival at last. "…Even if you're the only one left who knows me… that's enough." |
| A Thousand Times Has the Moon Fallen | Iuno | Stillness. Submersion. Solitude. Waking. Within this endless cycle, Iuno sometimes finds herself in moments that don't belong to her past. That starless night, the moon hung lower than ever, so close it looked ready to fall into her open palm as she sat atop the roof. She didn't remember how she fell asleep. Or maybe she hadn't slept at all, just drifted, carried by moonlight into a gentle illusion she never dreamt of. A quiet retaliation, perhaps, for the arrow she once loosed into the sky… and the defiance she once dared to speak aloud. In that place, there was no Dark Tide. No doomsday. Only a strange yet familiar field. Children ran barefoot beneath the morning sun. Smokes spiraled up in the dusk. A girl, about her age, lounged on a bough of a fruit-laden tree, legs dangling lazily, expression soft, free like fish drifting in a sunlit sea. Iuno could almost see her smile, rippling out like circles across still water. "You see?" the moon spoke, its voice warm and honeyed. "This, too, is a way to live." Iuno didn't answer. She simply watched as that other version of herself waved at someone in the distance, then swung lightly down from the tree and gave her skirt a playful shake. "That is you," the voice whispered. "Such is the magic of illusion. You can glimpse snow and seas you never knew… lives you never lived." She turned and saw the moon behind her. No longer just a quiet ornament of the sky, but more like a vast hollowed eye, always watching. "There's nothing left for you to hold onto," it said again, voice gentle and ancient, like the way firelight once carried prophecy to her bones. "So why not stay? It isn't real, no. But what harm is there in a little joy? Why be so cruel to yourself?" And then, everything began to rewind. The final ending. The thousandth. The hundredth… The tenth… The first. When one moves far enough backwards, crosses every threshold back to the starting point, the in-between becomes just numbers, easy to rewrite. The other her laughed, running through the field, a basket of fruit spilling at her feet. Sunlight wrapped around her arms like a ribbon. Her companion stepped toward her now, smiling. "Want to go to the seaside today?" she asked, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Have you ever considered," the moon murmured, "that everything you have become is because you were bound by prophecy from the start? That you never truly had a choice? But… what if you did?" "You know this isn't real," Iuno said quietly, her gaze lifting to the moon, strangely present now in the blue daylight sky. "And you know you can never go back," it replied. Not cruel, just softly persuasive. "Everything you had is buried. This is where you belong now, and every day forward," the moon paused. "Even now, in illusion, you still refuse to forget yourself. You won't let go of your past and embrace a new, possible life. Such infuriating stubbornness." Iuno said nothing. She looked down at her palm. No bow. Only a bundle of unbloomed wildflowers. After a long pause, she gave a small, lopsided smile. "And you're just like me," she whispered. "Stubborn." She looked again at her other self. That girl was now wandering a lively street, pausing in front of a glass storefront, laughing freely. "Are you lonely?" the moon asked. Iuno tilted her head. "Maybe… a little," she admitted. "Don't you want someone to hear that loneliness?" "That would make me look fragile." "Then would you deny it?" "That's just another kind of fragility." "So?" She whispered back, "So I embrace it. I'll carry it through the nights only I remember." She stepped into the shop and saw the other Iuno adjusting her hair in front of a mirror. Moving closer, she reached out and gently tucked the loose strands behind the other Iuno's ears, just the way their mother used to do. After a moment's pause, she placed the flowers into the other Iuno's arms. "You're wonderful," she spoke gently. "But I could never be you. Not since a long time ago." And with that, she turned and left, leaving behind the shop and the illusion the moon had woven. Moonlight stretched her shadow across the ground, trying one last time to pull her back. But Iuno kept walking. Slowly. Steadily. Without turning. Behind her, the moon made one final attempt. "You know," it said, "sometimes… I truly pity you. You're so stubborn. So unwilling to bend." Let it pity her, then. She doesn't care. Life, after all, is but a game. No matter who is sitting beyond the table, she intends to win. Every time. She has come this far, and she will not surrender. Not even to herself. |
| At Last, the Cycle Begins Again | Iuno | After countless times, Iuno wakes again as if pulled from deep water. She is weary of the hollow, bitter cycle. Numb to her past. But she cannot stop, because now, at last, she understands where she is: adrift in the chaos between existence and vanishment. In the world she once came from, her name has long since peeled away. For every creature of the Dark Tide she Anchored, a piece of "Iuno" was taken. She chose this ending, one with no way back. So she continues. Drifting from one shattered cycle to the next, cycling through borrowed selves in a haze, until one moment, she reaches out her hand. And for the first time, someone else's warmth meets her own. The Unwritten One. The first being in this chaos that is not her echoes. {Male=He;Female=She} sees her as she is, suspended between moonlight and the Dark Tide. "…Iuno." Everything changes the moment {Male=he;Female=she} speaks her name. {Male=He;Female=She} remembers. And because of that, so does she. Two exceptions, in a place where memory should not exist. And suddenly, the chaos no longer feels endless. "Where are you taking me?" The Unwritten One walks beside her, voice soft, like a stone gently touching water. Iuno smiles faintly. "To finish something. Or maybe... to start again." They part ways, only to meet again at the battlefield where it all began. There, beneath a broken moon, lies the mark of her sacrifice. A proof fate could not erase. A narrow seam left for her to step through. "If you go through, you will return to that moment. With {Male=him;Female=her}, you will Anchor your forgotten self. But everything you have Anchored before, everything you wanted to Anchor, even fate itself, will need to be Anchored again. Do you understand what that heralds?" She hears herself. It sounds like a warning, or a persuasion. Iuno lifts her face and looks straight at the moon. "…I do." She speaks almost casually. Her expression still carries that familiar, proud curve. "I used to think that if I saw more, predicted more, I could change something. That knowledge would give me power. But the more I saw, the more I was trapped by it." The Unwritten One stays silent, only watching her. Iuno raises her hand. The lingering traces of her past gather into a single form, revealing another Moon Arrow. Its fletching glows with silver and soft blue, like the hush before dawn. "This time, let's change the order," she says, drawing the bowstring tight. Her eyes hold no grief, no resentment. "I'll Anchor myself first. Then everything that tries to run. And after that... I'll go see something new." She draws her bow. The Moon Arrow gleams, suspended like a full moon before the ruined wall. Wind sweeps past, tangling her hair, but her breath stays steady. The Unwritten One sees her silhouette cast upon the wall, and for a heartbeat, it looks like the moon completing itself. When the arrow flies, there's no sound. Light pours from the broken moon, rushing backward like a reversed tide. It washes over her, drowning and lifting her at once. The names once lost and the shadows once swallowed by fate return to her, Anchored again by a single shot. Time passes. When she finally steps out of that void of infinite possibility and returns to the world of celebration, flower petals fall from the sky like rain. By the firelight, someone lifts a wine glass and catches her eye. He blinks in confusion. "You're, um… How strange. I don't think we've met, but… do I know you?" Iuno raises her eyebrow and says nothing, just as before. She lifts her glass and clinks it against his. After that night, no one remembers the girl who shot an arrow through fate. But from then on, Iuno's moon is no longer one of simple waxing and waning. It turns again and again, not in repetition, but in renewal. She has written her own meaning into the cycle. And now, it continues, always changing, always hers. |
 Tempered | Qiuyuan | "Every mountain stands as a trial. Pass this one, and you are free to take your own path. Fail… then this mountain shall keep what you have." Those were the first words Qiuyuan heard from the old man five years ago, spoken in a hell of fire and blood. Words impossible to forget. He called him Master, though he never knew his face. A white-bearded elder in rags, perhaps. The old man trained Qiuyuan relentlessly, taught him martial arts sharp enough to let him "see" the bamboo forest swaying in his mind. Rumors about his master spread like mist. Some said he was the Sword Specter of Chongzhou, a butcher who left trails of corpses in his wake. Others whispered that he had once been Mingting's celebrated general, a conqueror of vast lands whose power nearly rivaled that of the Huanglong ruler, only to fade into solitude after a fall from grace. And there were those who claimed he was no more than a myth. After all, who could believe a mortal could slay a mountain of Tacet Discords with nothing but a bamboo stick? But Qiuyuan believed. For five years, he enjoyed countless victories, but never once bested his master. "You said the same words five years ago, Master." "Five years… gone in a blink." Qiuyuan had been waiting for this day. Defeat this old man, and he could leave the bamboo forest, cross this mountain, and finally, surpass the one who had always won. "I've taught you almost everything. But the last move, the most vital one, I'm still keeping for myself. Do you know what it is?" "I beg for your teachings, Master." "Then tell me, Qiuyuan, what does the bamboo forest show you?" "Leaves like spears. Stalks hiding dangers. Shadows upon shadows, like ghosts surrounding me." "So, the flame from five years ago is still burning in your heart." "Isn't it also burning your heart.... Sword Specter?" "It has been... many years since the last living soul called me by that name. Very well, I see you don't need more explanation. Now, come take the final move from me." It was he who wrought the hell of fire and blood five years ago. It was also he who brought Qiuyuan out of that hell of fire and blood. "With this blade, I will honor your teachings!" The flame has never died. |
| Concealed | Qiuyuan | "Lie still. Don't even think of moving." A harsh voice reached Qiuyuan as he awoke, body aching, wounds bound. Yet within it lingered a gentleness so unlike the killing intent he had grown used to. It was then that the memory of how he came to be broken in the first place returned. "I…" "You killed dozens with your bare hands. Not a creative way to beg for death, I'd say." "…I should be dead." "Many who live deserve to die, and many who died should have lived. Such is fate." Regret tangled in vengeance had taught Qiuyuan when to sheathe the blade. But it couldn't cleanse the hatred he had carried for five long years. The flame that couldn't be quenched by the pouring rain from five years ago is still burning vividly in his mind, just like the old man who once stood before him among the fires, with a sword in his hand. But there had been no rain when he left the mountain. Only liquor dripping down his face and a whispering sigh. A hatred born of blood may only be washed away by blood in return. But what comes after? No one ever knows. He was left with no reason to raise his sword. When his opponents' weapons struck, he simply stood and let them come... "Heh… whether you deserve life or death, I cannot say," that voice murmured. "The choice lies with you alone." And so, Qiuyuan laid aside his blade. With only a bamboo stick in hand, he idled outside the hut as decoctions simmered on the stove, spending his days picturing the patients who came, and the stubborn middle-aged man they called Doctor Zhang. For the first time in years, he enjoyed peace again. Since the day Doctor Zhang saved him, he could not "see" the bamboo forest of blades anymore—only pure, silent darkness, free of hatred and rage. There were sighs and tears, words of gratitude and joy, the scent of medicine, and the crackle of stove fire. It was moments like these that made him realize he was no different from the ordinary. "Here, take this flask. And my recipe too. You need three bowls of water for one bowl of decoction. Keep that in mind." "…What's this?" "My potent regimen pulled you back from death that day, but your Forte has been crippled. This medicine restores your Mindsight, at least for a little while. It will be of some help on the day you raise your sword again." "I won't. You saved me, Doctor. The least I can do is stay and take care of sundry matters for you." "I don't think so. Bloodshed clings to your face. Your palm's lifeline is cut off. Followed by fears, haunted by distress... You are bound to die in battle, not of old age here in my hut." "Followed by fears, haunted by distress... My master once told me the same." "Master, you say? To have a disciple like you… He must be a tough nut." "…Even so, Doctor, I will not take up the blade again. But I'll accept your recipe. Let me stay here. If trouble comes to this hut because of me, I'll leave." "Well… medicine is like a blade. It all comes down to the usage and dosage. It can kill, but also save." "Now, go open the door, Qiuyuan. Light the stove. I won't claim I'm better than you, but no one dares stir trouble under my roof. That I can guarantee." |
| Unsheathed | Qiuyuan | "Hah… all that strength wasted in the wilderness. How will you answer the lives that fell beneath your blade?" "You've got the wrong man. Doctor, another patient is here." Qiuyuan ignored the older man and kept tending firewood under the stove. At first, the man had merely come by to exchange idle words with Doctor Zhang. Later, he began appearing more often, spouting riddles and nonsense. This time, though, he suddenly hurled a fist-sized iron weight at Qiuyuan. Instinct took over. Qiuyuan raised his hand and caught it against his brow without flinching. "You're the Doctor's friend. Why treat me so?" "You should recognize what you're holding." The beast's head, forged from the finest steel, radiated a chill that ran down the spine. Yes, there was no mistaking it. "The Internal Security Agency… are you here to arrest me?" "If you are a wanted man, I wouldn't be the one to catch you. You've left behind a trail of death. Normally, the Justice Commission would prosecute your crimes." "Then let them do it." "...Do you truly wish to die on the execution ground?" "Death comes either way. What difference does it make?" "It would be a waste of your strength." "…" "Blood debts are paid in blood. That is the natural order. Perhaps the noose is your end, but before then, you can at least make up for some of what you've done." "Come with me. I can't spare you from your death penalty, but I can promise you this—you won't rot in a cell, nor waste away on a sickbed." Qiuyuan knew the power of Mingting's ISA all too well. That iron head of the Qiongqi beast, bestowed by Huanglong's highest authority, embodies the Emperor's very presence. Wherever it appears, officials must bow low. Its envoys traverse the realm unfettered by any court, answering only to the throne, entrusted with only the gravest matters. Should they seek a man's life, not even death itself dares to intervene. "You may wield a sword for yourself, sure, but you may also raise it for the greater good. Serve Mingting, punish the wicked, shield the innocent." "I am but a blind man. The weight of the greater good is far heavier than I can bear." The man picked up a piece of wood and stared at the stove. "Do you know why Doctor Zhang left Mingting?" "…No. He never said, and I never asked." "To heal all, rather than to heal one." The man chucked his firewood under the stove and spoke no more. Three days later, Qiuyuan stood with the man at the hut's door. The mountain dew of Chongzhou's deep valleys had yet to soak their straw hats. No smoke rose from the stove's chimney. Only the faint dawn light touched them. "He must have told you why I left Mingting… Hmph. That man from the Internal Security Agency is... like me, stubborn to a fault. But perhaps that is why he could persuade you to follow him. The world is vast. All I can do is try my best to save more lives. But that man, Liang Dongyuan… he's the one in court who can 'save' people. The time has arrived. Go now. Linger here too long, and you'll only scare my patients away." The doctor patted Qiuyuan's shoulder and slipped into the hut without a backward glance, leaving him no chance to reply. Years later, Qiuyuan would still recall that morning, prostrating on the dirt path worn smooth by countless patients. "Thank you, Doctor. For everything." |
| Shattered | Qiuyuan | Shackles clattered in the prison cell. Qiuyuan sat within, no different from the corrupt officials and rogues he had once cast into jail. "Open the gate." "B-but, Minister Lin, the execution is about to begin—" "Open it." The bars groaned as the cell gate slid open. A man stepped inside, bringing with him the faint aroma of food and wine. "What now? You here to supervise the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs?" "Forgive me, Minister… I'm only carrying out my duty." "Very well. Then you must know that the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs is required to question every felon before their execution. Now, I must also fulfill my duty. Leave. All of you." "As you command…" "And lock the gate. I will summon you when I am done." Hurried footsteps faded, leaving only the two of them within the cell. "The execution is supposed to begin at noon, the forty-fifth minute. You're an hour and a half early." "…Are you here to see me off, Master Lin?" "First, drink this. A toast to his memory." Qiuyuan rose slowly, the heavy chains dragging against the ground. He took the cup, but instead of drinking, poured the wine onto the ground—a libation for the dead. "Sigh… Only you were there when Dongyuan met his wretched end. This is such a dire case that even the top brass are watching. With no trace left by the true culprit, the Justice Commission had no choice but to scapegoat you." "I could not save Grandmaster Liang. That failure is mine alone." "Do you still recall the fiend who… peeled themselves from Dongyuan's body?" "I'll never forget their frequency, even if they were reduced to ashes." "The Ministry scoured every record, but nowhere was there mention of a Resonator who could take on another's form and body." "…I cannot say if some fragment of Grandmaster Liang still lingered in that moment." "Perhaps Dongyuan was no longer himself when he sent you on that case in Jinzhou. A man so righteous would have never ordered the pursuit of a minor official who only killed Tacet Discords to protect the people." "That is why I spared him—that man, Geshu Lin. The Grandmaster Liang I knew would never have given such an order." "Dongyuan was never wrong about you. If you wish to know the truth behind his death, you can only begin from that case. Though I fear… you may never sort everything out." "I have spilled more than my share of blood. But because of you, Grandmaster Liang, and Doctor Zhang, I was able to live differently, if only for a time… I could only repay such trust in another life." The Minister moved toward the gate. His face was solemn, but his eyes held a firm reassurance. "Dongyuan once promised that you would not end your life in a cell or on a sickbed." "According to Mingting's law, to execute a felon like you, the Justice Commission must first receive a decree approved by both the Emperor and the Sentinel, forwarded by the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs. The execution can only be carried out an hour after they receive the decree." "Without those writs returned, no man dares execute you." "Therefore, Qiuyuan, remember: from now on, the path ahead is yours alone. Even if it costs you your life, you must see this case to its end. If you are to die, let it be on the road to avenging Dongyuan." |
| Reforged | Qiuyuan | Five years had passed since he had escaped Mingting and became a wanted fugitive across the six cities. While Mingting remained unchanged—bustling and prosperous, his own clothes had grown tattered, worn by the dust and frost of the endless journey across Huanglong. Minister Lin from the Ministry of Sentinel Affairs had fallen ill and retired. The young man who had survived his blade became a general guarding the border, but even he had fallen to the madness of the Threnodian. His master had taught him when to draw the sword and when to sheath it. Yet when he held back, everything had plunged into the abyss. The doctor once said that a sword could both kill and save. Yet he had failed to save the one he wished to. Fate twisted relentlessly. Everything had changed, yet somehow, nothing really changed. He still had not found the one who killed Grandmaster Liang. But he had never stopped seeking the truth. If Minister Lin had not sent word of a lead from the Grand Marshal, the head of the Ministry of War, he might never have dared return to Mingting. "You've come." Through the torrential rain, a straw-hatted figure emerged from the shadow of the bridge, face hidden. "Scar, the Fractsidus Overseer, escaped from Jinzhou's prison not long ago. Intel places him near Septimont City in Rinascita. He's a wanted criminal of Jinzhou and of Huanglong. He must be captured." "You could do it yourself." "Rinascita's different. Individuals who resemble the Threnodian's Resonator have been sighted there." "…So this reminds you of me?" "You were the key to Dongyuan's case, and Geshu Lin is the key to your case. Since Jinzhou's Threnodian is what brought Geshu Lin down… Follow the thread, and you may learn why Dongyuan gave you that order, and... perhaps discover the true culprit. Everything on Fractsidus and Rinascita's Threnodian is in this dossier. Take this letter with my seal and start with Jinzhou. Your niece, the Magistrate's Bodyguard, is there. Find out how Scar escaped, then head east to Rinascita." Qiuyuan rarely saw this distant niece, let alone spoke to her, given the long distances between cities. All he knew was that she had become the Jinzhou Magistrate's bodyguard. "She may not meet me." "She will. You are family. She will believe in your words. Also… {PlayerName} is in Rinascita." "…That {PlayerName}?" "Yes. You may ask {Male=him;Female=her} about what happened in Jinzhou as well." "…Understood. Give me the dossier. I'll leave at once." Qiuyuan turned, but the figure called after him. "Wait! Since you're back, visit Dongyuan. I know you offer incense at his grave every year." "I'll find the clues first, then return to honor his spirit. As for that fugitive you mentioned…" "Capture him if you can, execute him if you can't. I'll handle the Justice Commission." "Understood." Qiuyuan nodded, vanishing into the rain without further words. He knew he carried the weight of unseen court intrigues. Mingting would not even formally assign someone to capture Scar. He, a lone fugitive, was entrusted to do so. Yet he didn't care. His aim was simple: uncover the truth that he had been denied. And when that day came—when vengeance was taken, debts repaid—then what? Would that be the sheath he had been seeking? Perhaps, with age, he would finally know. |
 Her Family | Sigrika | "I'm back..." The moment Sigrika closed the door, a round Kronapuff that could've been a ball launched itself into her arms, sending her stumbling back two steps. "Hey, Crackle! Did you have fun at home?" she laughed, steadying herself. "You look bigger again. Have you been eating too much? Alright, alright, let go of me! Where's Mother? Wait, don't tell me. My nose already knows." She dashed into the kitchen. The fatigue of the journey melted away the instant she spotted the pot of rich, bubbling Smoked Meat Stew. "You're back?" her mother glanced over. "Look at you, filthy from head to toe. Off chasing birds with your friends again, were you? In a few days, you will receive the Reactor Drive's blessing. After that, you'll be considered a grown-up. A Solsworn can't be seen running around like that." "No, no! I was helping Aunt Astrid with her herd. That doesn't count as running around." Her mother reached out and pinched her cheek. Sigrika winced and scrunched up her face. It only made her mother's smile soften. "Alright, alright. Go wash your hands. We'll eat once your father gets home." "Okay!" Sigrika grinned. She washed her hands carefully, then took the plates and utensils from the cupboard and laid them out neatly on the table. When her father returned, their small home welcomed a dinner that wasn't lavish, but was warm enough to fill the room. At the table, Sigrika counted the little gifts her father had brought back—flower crowns, hairpins, clear bits of glass, and a few small blocks whose purpose she couldn't quite guess. As she tucked them away, her mother sighed and began to complain about his buying strange trinkets again. Her father scratched his head, fumbled for an explanation, then, catching Sigrika's eye, seized his chance to change the subject. "So, feeling confident about the coming Trial?" "Of course," Sigrika answered without hesitation. She liked this. Being with her family. Even when her parents nagged and rambled, she never felt annoyed. She knew, deep down, that all of it came from love and their high expectations for her. Her parents wanted her to become an outstanding Solsworn. They hoped she would use her talent to help others, and more than that, they hoped she would grow into an outstanding person. Sigrika knew how to live up to those expectations. That was why she studied runes every day. Learned something new every day. Even when exhaustion crept into her bones. Still, as the Trial drew closer, she couldn't help but feel nervous. "It's alright," her parents said. "Our little Sigrika will pass with flying colors. After that, you'll be heading to Startorch Academy. That place has trials of its own waiting for you." "Mhm!" Sigrika nodded, pushing her anxiety out the front door along with the dust of the road. For now, she would just enjoy dinner. After all, the stew really smelled good. "Oh, right, Mother," she added suddenly. "Has Crackle put on weight? I could barely pick it up." "Ask your father." "Papa?" "Haha… I might have... fed it a bit more than a little." |
| Her Gift | Sigrika | The rune unfolded before her eyes, like a sun rising into the sky. Few people knew that runes were never meant to be flat symbols, but something with great depth—just like what she was witnessing now. This small sun rose and unfurled, spilling its light freely and generously onto everything around it. Sigrika watched in silence. If she were asked to explain what was happening, she would just say that runes carry meaning. She was only interpreting that meaning and allowing it to manifest in the world. "Only?" she thought to herself. People called it her gift. As if she had been born able to read the True Names of runes, born able to draw on the power sealed inside them. And so, of course, she could apply this gift elsewhere, like calculating the paths of the stars, fulfilling everything a Solsworn was expected to do. But... that was all it was. A gift. A gift meant that this was the one place where she could give her all and nowhere else. She could recreate the True Names of runes, but she could not truly understand their essence. Why did runes hold such immense energy? What were those fleeting visions she sometimes glimpsed when touching them? And when she deciphered runes, what were those syllables hinting at, the ones she heard but could never understand? She didn't know. Standing here now, waiting to be marked with the "blessing of the Reactor Drive," she held a quiet hope: that once the blessing was imprinted onto her, once she crossed this threshold into adulthood, understanding would come naturally to her. But of course, it didn't. The rune merely unfolded before her eyes. Nothing more. Even if it shone like a sun. This was what being "gifted" meant. It meant that it ended here and only here. Anything beyond that, she would have to seek out herself. See it for herself. Think it through on her own. Even now, when she had no answers at all. Even if this gift felt like a shadow cast upon her by some greater entity. |
| Her Limits | Sigrika | The frostlands. Sigrika exhaled softly, a plume of white drifting into the air as she watched the herderless Exoswarm roaming in the distance. She had been trailing them all night. It had taken her hours to pull the Exoswarm out of their extreme agitation. Now, they wandered the frostlands in loose, aimless loops, but Sigrika knew this was not a good sign. Something in their command and navigation units had malfunctioned, leaving them to trace one pointless circle after another. And sooner or later, without warning, they would spiral back into a frenzied rampage. When that happened, the nearest Royan settlement would be the first to suffer. It was a riddle. And she didn't have much time left to solve it. But that was fine. She was ready. "These True Names… Illuminate." The next instant, runes flared to life across the Exoswarm, then detonated. The aimless circling stopped. And in its place came rage. The Exoswarm recalibrated as one, locked onto Sigrika, and charged. Their thunderous steps shattered the silence of the frostlands. The ground trembled beneath them. Sigrika tightened her grip on her dagger and began tracing runes in the air. Calm. Focus. These were the absolute requirements when drawing and deciphering runes. Stroke by stroke, the runes formed before her. And all the while, the Exoswarm bore down, their fury heating the very air, melting the snow beneath their pounding steps. Three... They carved deep, stretching grooves across the ice. Runes flickered on their bodies, but did nothing to slow them down. Driven by the single command to charge, they only accelerated, faster and faster— Two... Sigrika tapped the final point with her blade. She vanished. At almost the same instant, every rune on the Exoswarm ignited, and Sigrika slipped between them, shuttling through their ranks on the paths her runes had carved. One! The rune trap activated. Chain explosions erupted. Wind blades tore through the Exoswarm, cutting off their advance. And at the center of it all, Sigrika's dagger found its mark—the key to the riddle. When the shockwaves finally faded, she landed lightly, pulled forward by a Soliskin. Behind her, the Exoswarm herd that had raged all night finally fell silent, and the last rune clenched in her fingers scattered into specks of starlight. "That was… close." If not for Soliskin steadying her, she would have collapsed right there. Her hands were still trembling. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She knew why. The most important rune had never lit up. It hadn't responded to her deciphering. It hadn't worked at all. If the pre-set traps hadn't triggered exactly as calculated… If the wind blades had been even the slightest bit weaker… In that moment, she understood her limits. And she understood that the gift she relied on was far from omnipotent. There would be times when runes could not be deciphered. Her gift, too, had boundaries. And this—only this—was what she had to rely on. She had to read the runes correctly. Because if she made even a single mistake, everything would turn out differently. No one said those words to her. So now, she said them to herself. |
| Her Shadow | Sigrika | She stood still. Students streamed past her, some eagerly debating club activities, some rushing to class, others grumbling about the weight of their coursework. They flowed past her into the Academy in an endless current, a stream that didn't seem to run dry. And there she stood among them. A stake driven in place, struggling just to hold her ground. This was the new life waiting for her. Sigrika jolted awake. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't home anymore. She was a freshman at Startorch Academy. What awaited her wasn't just runes. New courses. New knowledge. New people. A buffet of novelty lay spread before her. But the light of it all cast shadows. Heavy ones. She still hadn't found her footing here. Just yesterday, working as a teaching assistant for the first time, she had been asked to explain Royan customs to her classmates. Halfway through, a strange confusion and pressure had washed over her, something she had never felt before. Two days ago, she hadn't even known how to make TARD-E stop its incessant singing. And before that… She had stood at the Academy gate, watching people pass by, unable to decide which way to go. All of it was new. Vast. Overwhelming. Unlike runes, these things weren't built from points and lines. They offered her no familiar handholds. Sigrika threw off the covers and sprang out of bed. She washed up quickly, then gathered her things: the notes she had organized yesterday, her Bionics assignment, the preview materials for Ecology and Communications, and... Moments later, arms full of books, she hurried out the door and merged into the stream. She would bite into these shadows. She would find their shape, their structure. And she would wrest the knowledge from inside. |
| Her Words | Sigrika | Sigrika stood at the front door of her childhood home, her hand resting on the handle. She didn't open it for a long time. Ah... It was still hard. Hard to say everything out loud, to admit how tired she was, how unhappy. Even facing her own family, she found it difficult. Or maybe... it was because they were her family that made it so hard. After all, she didn't want them to worry. "It's okay," she comforted herself. "If I can't even face my own family, how can I ever face myself?" At last, she made up her mind and reached to turn the handle—but the door swung open on its own. Her mother stood there, looking at her with helpless fondness. "Why didn't you come in?" "Mother..." "What's wrong?" her mother asked gently. "You've been out there for so long. Did something happen that you're afraid to tell me?" She smiled softly. "It's alright, we can take our time." Sigrika stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her. Something inside her crumbled all at once. Maybe it was the wall she had built, brick by brick, stone by stone, between herself and her family. Built from her pride. Her exhaustion. Her love. She had wanted so badly to be someone they could be proud of, so she never spoke of how tired she was. Never let it show. But now… she felt that she finally could. "I've met some friends," she began. "Really good friends." And there was so much more she wanted to tell them. |
 A Paragon's Work | Qingxiao | The Xuan Paragon appearing at the Ministry of War was, admittedly, a rare sight. When Qingxiao stepped down from her flying sword, everyone in the Ministry stopped what they were doing and turned to watch her. A Rafter Kite had carried word to her from Commander Qiuhong, sending her to a certain Censure Court to deal with several dozen Tacet Discords that had escaped. She had come to report the outcome. "It's handled," said Qingxiao. The Commander nodded her thanks, but his brow stayed furrowed. The Censure Court rotations had been going wrong for years now. Either something slipped out while the guard was changing, or a mechanism failed and did something it wasn't supposed to. The current Xuan Triad were brave and fought as one, but one of the three had taken a bad wound and stepped down, and the gap in the formation was being filled, for the moment, by a young Xuanfang Warden. She was new, and there was only so much she could do. They would need a proper third, and soon. None of this, however, was Qingxiao's concern. She was about to step back onto her sword when a hesitant voice called her back. "Lady Transcendent! No, wait, Paragon Qingxiao. I'd like... to learn the sword from you. If you'd have me?" Qingxiao turned to find a girl with a brisk ponytail standing, holding a spear as though not quite sure she was allowed to. "I've been fighting alongside Qingzhi and Duzhong for a while now. I think they're still more used to working with a sword, and I use a spear, so..." "I am not good at teaching," said Qingxiao. "And you have no need to learn the sword." Her voice was as distant as ever. "I see. Of course..." The light drained out of Liangyu's eyes. "Thank you. I'll think of something." "But I could try teaching you the spear." "...Huh?" The woman before her seemed hardly to touch the ground, light as a startled swan. The silver spear went with her, quick and easy, laying pale moon-coloured lines across the air. In her grip, it did not look like a weapon at all. It looked more like a calligrapher's brush. One movement flowed into the next and let go at exactly the right instant. Liangyu's mouth hung open. "Paragon Qingxiao... you know the spear too?" "I watched someone use one, a long time ago. Every martial art in the world shares its roots with the others. Make the spearpoint arrive the instant the thought does, and your spear will stand beside another's blade as well as any sword." Qingxiao held the spear out to her. "Now you." Liangyu steeled herself and worked through the forms Qingxiao had shown her. It came out shapeless, flaws everywhere. "Again," said Qingxiao. They were at it when the light went gold, and still Liangyu hadn't gotten it. Qingxiao offered no gentle progression. The spearwork she demonstrated was simply too far beyond her, every motion bearing ideas she couldn't yet see. But the girl would not give up. She kept reaching for the way the force shifted under her hands. And then, in a moment she wasn't thinking about it at all, the point of her spear tore the air open on a rush of wind, with a power she had never managed before. Still dazed, Liangyu heard soft applause. It was Qingxiao. "You have it." "But I couldn't follow your demonstration at all..." "If you had followed it exactly, you would not have your own understanding." Qingxiao's face was, unusually, almost gentle. "The thought is already there. What's missing is only time." Liangyu gazed at her, and at last nodded, as though something had quietly dropped into place. Some time later the Ministry of War welcomed a new Xuan Watcher, and at the ceremony the Xuan Paragon, who never came to such things, came. From a distance Qingxiao watched Liangyu in her silver armor, bright and unbowed, and for a moment saw the shape of someone she had known two hundred years before. Again you meddle in mortal affairs for no reason, and gather karma to no purpose. The voice at her ear was almost exactly her own. One day she will likely fall on some battlefield against the Tacet Discords. As Lingfang did. As... Ruoyun did. How long do you mean to protect them this time? How long can you? Qingxiao said nothing. |
| After the War | Qingxiao | The rain was going upward. Qingxiao let out a breath, her sword in her hand, and looked up at the two moons hanging in the night. The brighter of the two was a full moon bathed in violet glow, swallowing the better part of the sky. It was Ovathrax, watching the Gorges of Spirits with cold eyes. Watching her. However many Tacet Discords her flying swords cut down, more poured in to fill the gaps. She had to find the source of the Threnodian's power and end it, or the Tacet Discords would never stop. Faster. She had to be faster. Yuan Fortress was still waiting for her. Snow slid off a branch and onto her shoulder. Qingxiao, sitting in meditation, opened her eyes, and the memory let go of her. Not long after the Fortress and Gorges War ended, the Land of Xuanfang saw three days of unseasonable heavy snow, until even the nameless peak she lived on lay under white. A tall woman with black hair came across the snow and stood behind her, hands folded demurely before her. "You're... Hsin," Qingxiao said quietly. "Aw, how did you know, Lady Qingxiao? Was it the smell?" Hsin seemed genuinely to wonder, and lifted an arm to sniff at herself, here and there. As she did, the black of her hair ran white, and a pair of fox ears that could no longer be hidden pushed up through it, and Her robes and Her face shifted to match. Qingxiao rose and regarded calmly the "divinity" standing before her. "When the Threnodian came," she said, coldly, "where were you?" A cold Sword Intent gathered at the edges of the air around them both, sharp and invisible. "I was inside the Sanctum, Qingxiao. Everyone... did all they could." Hsin's fox ears drooped a little. The two of them held each other's gaze, until more snow slid from the branches. "...I spoke in haste," Qingxiao said, lowering her eyes. "The truth is, I came to ask you something." Hsin took a step closer. "The Land of Xuanfang has everything to rebuild and no shortage of dangers still in it. I'd like to propose a new post to the Ministry of War, one meant for you. The Xuan Paragon. An official standing would smooth a great many roads, I should think." "Xuan Paragon..." "No dull duties. Just lend Xuanfang your hand when it truly matters. And if you take it and wish one day to be done, you can leave whenever you please. What do you think?" Qingxiao said nothing, and Hsin smiled. "You needn't answer now. Xuanfang Hold is built and standing, after all. You could move down, and think it over." Qingxiao shook her head. "...No. This place is quiet. Remote. Free from worldly disturbance. It suits cultivation." "That reason again." Hsin didn't seem to mind. "It's all right. Xuanfang Hold will welcome you whenever." With that, Hsin turned and started off, as if to leave. A few steps on She stopped, and put Her head to one side. "In a few more months... it'll be the Waking Moon Festival again. Everyone wants it. Come and celebrate with us, Qingxiao." Qingxiao watched Hsin thin into the shadow of a fox and go. She walked to the cliff's edge and looked out over the Land of Xuanfang, still smoking from the war. Where Yuan Fortress once stood was nothing now but a deep and silent abyss. A long wind went past her ear, and it sounded like someone weeping. |
| Slaying the Inner Demon | Qingxiao | For a Cultivator, the true work lies in tempering the mind, reaching always for the far edge of what a Forte can do. And along that path, one must often confront oneself. Long ago, when Qingxiao had only begun her cultivation in the mountain, her master set her an important task. "Qing. My cultivation has met a wall, and I mean to cut down the demon in my heart and break through it. For that, I need you to hold the sword." "Hold the sword?" "If it goes wrong and the Inner Demon takes me, cut me down." Jingwei the Perfected said it with a calm face and a level voice, as though it were no more than a remark about what to have for supper. "I can't do that," Qingxiao said, shaking her head. "New to cultivation as you are, your swordcraft is exceptional. You are equal to the task." "No. How could I do such a thing to my own master. It's... unthinkable." Jingwei smiled, which she rarely did. "The Way is without feeling. Cultivation is like a game of weiqi. Once you set a piece down, you do not take it back. Or would you sooner see me fall into Overclocking and lose my mind, if I fail?" Qingxiao was silent a long while, and in the end she agreed. Late the following night, guided by a wisp of frequency her master had given her, Qingxiao entered Jingwei's inner landscape. It was a mountain that rose into the clouds, cloaked in snow. Now a heavy fog lay over the whole of it, and nothing could be seen a few paces off. Qingxiao sat at the summit with the sword laid across her knees, ill at ease, waiting for her master and the demon to settle it between them. If her master lost, could she truly raise a blade against her? Qingxiao did not know. An incense stick's time later, a shape came up out of the fog ahead of her. She was on her feet at once, sword in one hand, held level across her chest in an opening stance. The fog thinned, and the shape sharpened, until it stood fully revealed. "Qing. It is done," Jingwei said mildly. By then the fog at the summit had burned away entirely. The sun rose in the east, and the dawn ran red for miles. "Master, that bowl of braised pork at my initiation feast... Was it any good?" Qingxiao asked. "I never ordered braised pork," Jingwei answered. It really was her master. The sword nearly slipped from her hand, and Qingxiao let out the breath she had been holding. "On the path of cultivation, does every Cultivator meet an Inner Demon?" Qingxiao asked the question as they left the inner landscape. "It is born from the self, yours and mine alike. Live long enough and you will meet yours." Jingwei's face was as remote as ever. Cutting the demon away seemed to have changed nothing in her. "And when one faces it, is the demise of one side the only ending?" Qingxiao asked, looking down. "Yes. Drag your feet as long as you like, the day still comes when you have to finish it." After a moment, Qingxiao lifted her head. "If the Inner Demon is part of the self, then I would like to see whether there is another road to take." At that, Jingwei stopped walking and narrowed her eyes at the disciple beside her. "A fine idea. But the day your demon has hold of you, I will not raise a hand to help." It was the sort of thing her master would say. Jingwei was the perfect Cultivator, and never let a worldly tie or a debt of karma settle on her. Now that she had cut the last stray thoughts from her heart, she was colder than before. Qingxiao was not surprised. "When that day comes, do as I did. Take yourself a good disciple." "...What?" Qingxiao looked at her master's face, and thought that somewhere in all that calm there was, just possibly, the trace of a smile. |
| A Heart That Stays True | Qingxiao | In the half-sleep of deep meditation, Qingxiao slips now and then into the very oldest of her memories. "Qing! That old swordsman you sent packing, he's back!" When the village children came running with the news, Qing was sitting in the shade of a tree, leafing through a sword manual and sketching out the moves with a stick. The jade beads on the red cord at her wrist caught the dappled sunlight and shone. The manual laid out a great deal of difficult sword moves. She had drilled against it more times than she could count and could still only approximate the shapes, let alone catch the spirit of them. "Cough. Keep an eye on my sheep, would you? I'll go and have another word with him." The chill she had caught the month before hadn't quite finished with her, and a few coughs got out before she could stop them. A few days earlier, the old swordsman, an outsider, had drunk some medicine wine at the village's little inn, and then, well warmed up, tried to bully his debt into a tab. He put down every inn hand who came to stop him without ever drawing his sword. In the end it was Qing who, armed with nothing but a stick and the swordcraft she knew by heart, jabbed the webbing of his right hand and knocked the sword clean out of it. The old swordsman was sitting dead in the middle of the inn's hall again, sword in his arms. Only this time there was a second sword lying on the table. "Sit. I've waited a good while for you, girl. That was no ordinary swordcraft you used." "And what's that to you?" Qing sat herself down across from him without the slightest hesitation. "Allow me to ask you one thing. Why do you learn the sword?" "To keep myself strong... And to deal with troublemakers. People like you." The old swordsman gave a dry laugh. "It won't do. Even if your sword could hold off a thousand men, or ten thousand maybe, it would never be enough. Not in a world like this. The troubles coming for you will always be larger than the blade you carry." "At the least..." Qing said, "I can keep the people near me safe." At that, the old swordsman shoved the sword on the table toward her. "Good. Then don't forget your words today. Practice with this from now on. A stick will never be a real blade." Qing picked the "sword" up, not quite trusting the old swordsman. It sat heavy in her hands, and she would need time to get the hang of it. And then she noticed something odd. "This... is more of a dao." It looked plain and understated, with a single bright stroke of gold at the guard, and yet there seemed to be no small weight of power in it. "If it's {Male=his;Female=her} sword you wish to learn, this will get you started faster." Then one day, Tacet Discords came surging in and destroyed the village Qing was born in, and she began her wandering. Her sword, in those days, was barely enough to keep herself alive against the Tacet Discords. For all her effort, she saved a dozen or so of her neighbors. No more. Leading them out, she saw from far off several great columns of Sword Energy tear up into the sky, and soon after, the assault subsided. For some reason, it reminded her of the old swordsman. |
| Warmth Beneath the Cold | Qingxiao | One day, after that person had gone, Qingxiao returned to the little house at the summit. As she sat, the old mirror across the room gave back a different woman. In the mirror, the blue-haired woman in the moon-white dress had a pair of violet eyes. She was looking straight into her own. Is that enough for you? "It is." No, no. You've kept a great deal in there. Qingxiao, why is it that you took {Male=him;Female=her} as your disciple and still never said it? That you once thought of being {Male=his;Female=her}... disciple? "I have a master." Hah. Master Jingwei never claimed she was the one who taught you the sword. You told that person the manual was a stroke of fortune. But you never told of the nights you spent as a girl, tracing its pages, wondering who {Male=he;Female=she} might be. You told {Male=him;Female=her} you once searched Huanglong for {Male=his;Female=her} traces. But you never told that when you came down the mountain, it wasn't only to answer that question your master put to the heavens. It was to find {Male=him;Female=her}. "Mm. That is indeed something Qingxiao... once thought." "Had the chance come, it would have been a road worth taking." Then why? If you are keeping these stray thoughts, why not say them? "It isn't that I dare not. I cannot." "{Male=He;Female=She} chose to begin again. I won't trouble {Male=him;Female=her} with matters this old." Very good. Before long, {Male=he;Female=she} will set out again for the sake of this world. And you, the master, what will you do? "...Cherish the present. My disciple was always going to travel far, and I have my own work in the Land of Xuanfang." "The little time we spent walking together is enough to answer for all the years behind me." I'm tired of your grand justifications. And your careful little postures. "I will not lie to myself. And besides..." Qingxiao laid her fingertips on the strings and played. Clear, graceful music filled the house. The woman in the mirror let out a sigh, then smiled. Mountains and seas can be crossed. Parting always ends in meeting. Everything said and unsaid, she had long since entrusted to the once-tangled strings. |
 Mushrooms 101 | Verina | "If you're asking about Verina. Boy, you're in for a story," When asked about Verina, Riggs, leader of one of the Pioneer exploration teams, always begins with these words, "When she first came aboard our team, she was always by herself and didn't really talk to people. We were all worried about her, since she had lost her parents..." "We couldn't help but feel sad for her. She was so young, but already had it rough in life. And she was such a kind girl. We loved exploring, but it's no walk in the park. But Verina never complained. She did all the hard work like mountain climbing and getting water by herself. She even went scavenging for food without being asked. She was such a big help to us, but we worried about her keeping everything bottled up inside for too long... what if something happened?" "Until one day, something actually happened. And it was funny, to say the least. One of the lads on the team really liked mushrooms and went out to pick a few for the soup he made. Verina held on to that pot and wouldn't let it go as if her life depended on it. By the time we got over to them, they were already in a shouting match." "The lad was bragging to Verina about his wildlife experiences. Hell, don't know what'd gotten into his head, thinkin' he could out-talk our little botanist! Verina had all the mushrooms spread out and started naming out all the rings, caps, and butts of each and every one of them. Being out exploring for so long, we all caught on that she was telling us the mushrooms were poisonous. She's got more knowledge of them than any of us, even gave us a lecture on the spot, teaching us how to tell them apart one by one. Now that was a lesson." "After she was done, she even tapped on a piece of wood she found somewhere like an instructor, and asked if we understood it all. We looked at each other and blinked dumbly, then burst into laughs, which drove her nuts." "W-why are you all laughing... Did I get something wrong? Eugh... Sob..." She was so panicked that she started picking out the mushrooms still in the pot and went over them again one by one, but we were already all clapping for her. And then I yelled, "Bravo! That's our little botanist, folks!" Ever since then, Verina would still think of that day and feel super embarrassed; she'd put her head inside a mushroom pot if she could. But she'd still give her opinions carefully and patiently whenever it came to anything plant-related. |
| Cultivating Flowers | Verina | The people of Jinzhou love flowers. During tense battles, the military often requested extra bouquets with their supplies. These orders would end up in Verina's hands, which felt strange at first. The bouquets bloomed for only a short time. Those picked today would wilt tomorrow. A bouquet that blooms in a greenhouse may have withered petals by the time it makes it to its recipient. At this point, the flowers would have already lost most of their beauty in people's hands, so why the need for them? Until one day, she read the wishes attached to one of the orders. "In honor of my comrade in arms. He gave his life for the peace of Jinzhou, yet his name is not known to many. Yet I still remember his heartfelt smile when he received an Iris from a friend long ago. If one's name cannot be remembered, let the meanings of these flowers honor him forever." That night, Verina locked herself in the greenhouse. Flowers are adored for their intricate leaf patterns, but it's the fleeting feelings they evoke that truly captivate us. Verina carefully selected and cultivated the finest seeds, preserving those precious emotions in her garden. She longed to preserve the stories and emotions associated with each bouquet, wishing for them to last beyond their natural lifespan. She hoped that by doing so, recipients would experience the true essence and beauty of the flowers, igniting a deeper connection to the emotions they held within. It was at these times that Verena wished she could work a little harder and a little longer. |
| Noting the Differences | Verina | People always ask Verina why she loves plants so much. It's a question that Verina has answered countless times, but she knows that people will always start off the conversations with question after question, so each time she would give out her well-thought-out answer: "When I was little, my mom would place two pieces of leaves in my hand and ask me what the differences were between them. I would reply, 'Aren't they exactly the same? They came from the same tree.' And Mom would shake her head, 'Look closely, Verina.' So I gave them a closer look, and then I realized that even though they looked the same on the outside, their veins spread out in varying directions. They drew completely different patterns." This changed Verina's perspective entirely, the differences which she had never noticed nor cared about in the past were now displaying right before her eyes. Some flowers may look similar but grow in completely different environments. Some trees or plants may grow in near identical environments but end up taking on various shapes. Verina was captivated by the similarities and differences among plants, spurring her passion for botany. She meticulously studied their traits to help them thrive in different environments and cultivate stunning flowers. Through this, she also began to notice the unique qualities of those around her. Just as every leaf is distinct, so are people and experiences. Verina observes her friends closely, noting their preferences and sorrows with care. "For example, some people like to eat Lemongrass and some people don't. It must feel nice to have someone remember their preferences." With this sentiment in mind, Verina carefully and conscientiously jotted down every little thing about her friends. |
| Moments of Woe | Verina | Being an ordinary girl, Verina has her moments of woe, too. Plant cultivation can be unpredictable. Often, Verina would wake up to find dried seedpods in the petri dish after a night's rest. And then after working tirelessly all day, she would realize she had skipped her lunch again. In these moments, she missed her parents dearly. "If Mom and Dad were still around, I wouldn't have to worry about all this..." Verina thought. A hot, hearty lunch would be right there waiting for her as she walked in the door, and she would get all the help she needed in time whenever she wanted to figure something out. But all of that had long since become a memory, left in the notes that she had lost when she departed the New Federation a long time ago. Now she would have to pull herself together and live on her own. Sometimes, she wondered: Is there any meaning to all the work I've done? Is there any meaning in the life I'm living? But then, she would always find the answer in her thriving plants. Despite the struggle, the dry seedpods continued to produce new life and their growth whispered tales of perseverance and joy into her ears. As she nestled herself in this green oasis, Verina could hear the plants sharing their stories of pain and triumph, reminding her of the beauty of growth and blooming. Perhaps this was the meaning of her endeavors. Verina thought as she stood up and put on her gardening gloves again. Even if her parents aren't by her side, she is still determined to keep working hard and show them how much she's grown. After a brief moment of sorrow, she picked up the spray can and carried on with her day's work. |
| A Little Time Off | Verina | Verina would give herself some time off from time to time. Verina set the flower room temperature and watering schedule. As she finished, she exhaled in relief. After days of work, she knew the importance of taking a break for both herself and her plants. She cleared her mind and grabbed her adventure notes to explore the streets of Jinzhou. Jinzhou was a far cry from her hometown in the New Federation. No inflated flower prices or elaborate competitions here. As she strolled through the bustling alleyways, Verina was struck with a sense of genuine relief. The steam rising from vendors' stalls and the busy shoppers around her brought a comforting normalcy to this new city. This is good, this is good. As she walked along the road, Verina thought to herself. Memories flooded her mind of studying plants with her parents, and the painful loneliness she felt after their absence. But now, standing on her own two feet, she could finally treat herself to a peaceful vacation. After what felt like an eternity of walking alone, she had grown into her own person. And then she saw her friends waving to her: Chixia and Yangyang were walking towards her with freshly purchased Salted Milk Tea in their hands. The Midnight Rangers must be taking a little vacation as well. Verina hurriedly rummaged through her satchel, pulling out a few bouquets of tiny, star-like flowers from it. This was the most precious gift Verina would ever give her friends. The selection had taken far, far too long, and while the Starflowers had waited for the best of times and sunshine, she had also waited for sunshine that would make her feel warm. Now that she saw her sunshine, Verina ran toward her friends. There was a long road ahead, and it would take some time for the flowers to bloom. And for now, she is content to enjoy the vacation. |
 Mountain Memories | Lumi | Outside an old house in Yuezhou lies a patch of reeds beside a lake. To the north, the water narrows; to the south, it widens, resembling a sliced pear, with the surface shimmering under the night sky. The summer air hung thick with heat, lulling the world into a drowsy stupor. In the quiet of the evening, Lumi nestled in her mother's arms on a rocking chair by the window. Her eyelids drooped as she gazed out sleepily. The soft breeze from a fan brushed her skin, making her squint with contentment. The chorus of insects filled the yard, and Lumi curled even closer to her mother, lulled by the comforting sounds of the village. This small place was Changzhuang. No one could quite remember why it was called that, but they grew accustomed to this name over time. The disasters following the Lament had spread across all of Huanglong. Even here, deep in the mountains of Yuezhou, they had left their indelible mark by cutting the village off from the outside world—technology crumbled, and the villagers returned to the old ways—farming, hunting, surviving as their ancestors once had. Life was dictated by the rising and setting sun. Over time, people in Changzhuang became used to the peace and simplicity of this lifestyle. The day Lumi was born, the whole house lit up. The swaddled infant glowed softly, catching the eye of every villager. They gathered in the yard, curious to see the newborn who shone like a small beacon. Resonators were rare here, and ones like Lumi, with such innate power, were even rarer. But in a village as tranquil as Changzhuang, there were no grand challenges that even needed a child Resonator to solve. Therefore, Lumi grew up carefree, just like other ordinary children in the village. She learned the ways of the mountains and fields—how to track wild animal traces and how to distinguish which plants might sate a hungry belly. People in Changzhuang enjoyed cooling off under the shade of a tree. As Lumi ran through the trees with her friends, her inborn light flickered as if performing a cheerful dance. The village elders lovingly called her "Sunshine," while her friends dubbed her "Lumi the Firefly." Yet Lumi often wondered about her strange gift, unsure of its purpose. More often than not, it was a nuisance. On hunting trips, her light would flash uncontrollably, startling prey. After being asked to temporarily sit out from the hunts, Lumi's heart sank with a pang of frustration. Alone, she wandered to the marshes by the reeds and sat down. Her glow flickered, dimmed, and then brightened again as she practiced, trying to control the light. Finally, exhaustion set in, and she drifted off to sleep. Despite her struggles, Lumi never felt rushed. Life in Changzhuang was slow, and there was always time to grow and to learn. The shimmering surface of the lake returned to darkness. The night breeze ferried the croaks of frogs away. Tomorrow was another day. |
| Towards the Horizon | Lumi | "Tuesday, clear skies. I watched the sunset from Caidong Peak! But Zhangzhang didn't come… She seems to have lost interest in this kind of thing..." Lumi paused and closed her notebook in the golden light of the setting sun. It was a thick hardcover notebook—a birthday gift from her parents, one she had chosen herself. Once a diary, it had transformed into an exploration journal as she grew older. As a child, Lumi was content wandering the pebble paths of Changzhuang, but now, those paths felt too small. Her curiosity stretched beyond the borders of the village. She longed for the roads that led to the world outside. The only problem was—no one had found those roads in a long, long time. Her father once told her about the many failed attempts. Over the years, many had tried to find a way beyond the mountains, but all had returned empty-handed, lost, or worse. Eventually, the villagers gave up, their focus shifting to more immediate concerns. Life in Changzhuang was demanding—farming from spring to autumn, then bracing for the long winter when the mountains would disappear under a blanket of silver frost, making exploration impossible. Lumi understood the demands of life, yet her curiosity and yearning for adventure burned even brighter. She quickly gathered a group of friends and formed a small exploration team, determined to find a way out. But despite their excitement, failure kicked in—the aftermath of the Lament had seemingly twisted the terrain, eliminating every possible way out, just like it had their forebears. At first, the setbacks didn't bother them. They were kids, after all, full of energy and hope. But as time passed, they drifted away. The older ones joined the labor teams, others lost interest. Lumi's once lively group dwindled, and today, her exploration ended earlier than planned as everyone was eager to hurry home before dusk settled in. Lumi sighed. She knew that for most of her friends, this was just a way to pass the time. She stood up, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted toward the mountains, her voice echoing against the rocks and trees before fading into the evening air. The sunset blazed across the sky, casting the horizon in shades of red and gold before melting into the soft kiss of the night. Lumi smiled, patting her cheeks lightly. It didn't matter. The thrill of discovering something new, something unknown, still filled her with excitement. "…Oh! I'll tell Zhangzhang all about the view when we meet for ice pops tonight. And Beihai, Ming…" She whispered the names of her friends as she waved goodbye to the mountains, then turned and made her way down the hill, alone but content. |
| Neon City | Lumi | "You're awake? Here, drink this." As her eyes fluttered open, her parched lips met the cool, sweet droplets of water. Her hand instinctively gripped the container, and she eagerly gulped it down. "Easy now, don't rush," the voice urged, gentle and concerned. "You'll choke if you drink too fast." As the last drop slipped down her throat, Lumi blinked, her mind finally clearing. She looked up at the faces of her rescuers—a small squad, three of them, dressed in similar clothing. Their leader, a girl with a kind smile, helped her sit up. "Are you from around here? That's a surprise. We were told there's no one living in these parts," the girl said, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Guess we'll need to update our map." "Thank you… for saving me," Lumi whispered, her words faltering. The world she knew was small, confined to the mountains and the narrow boundaries of Changzhuang. "A-are you from the outside?" The squad exchanged glances, and it was then that Lumi noticed the emblem on their uniforms—a chubby hamster wearing a straw hat, grinning adorably. A hand reached out, helping Lumi to her feet. "Sorry for the late introduction. We're from Lollo Logistics, a delivery squad." Months later, Chengxiao smiled, setting down the comb and patting Lumi's shoulder. "Take a look. How do you feel?" Lumi stared at her reflection, stunned by the unfamiliar face in the mirror. The girl staring back at her had neat curls and wore a clean, fitted Lollo Logistics uniform—looking every bit the city dweller she had become. Chengxiao, the leader of the squad that had rescued her, had taken Lumi from the quiet of Changzhuang to the bustling city and taken her under her wing. She was quick-witted, reliable, and now Lumi's mentor at Lollo Logistics. "I look… different," Lumi muttered, scratching her head shyly. "Thank you, Chengxiao." "None of that formality now," Chengxiao laughed. "I'm off to deliver some documents. Cafeteria later?" "Sure!" As the door closed, Lumi returned to stare at the mirror, her gaze lingering on her reflection for a while. Having just passed the Lollo Logistics assessment, she was still adjusting to city life. The city was a whirlwind compared to the quiet village she had left behind. The streets buzzed with life, day and night. Even in the dead of night, lights flickered, and voices filled the air. Walls and doors were everywhere, and restrictions at every corner. In Changzhuang, she could run free, straight through the open land for as long as she wanted. Here, every step had to be measured carefully. The crowded markets left her both energized and overwhelmed. "Take it slow, Lumi," she murmured to herself. "No rush. No rush…" Grabbing her straw hat, Lumi took a deep breath and opened the door, ready to face the city once more. |
| Through Waters and Mountains | Lumi | "Squeakie, I'm feeling dizzy…" Lumi murmured, leaning against the edge of the bed as the ship rocked beneath her. The waves crashed against the hull with a roar, and the violent turbulence made one feel like it might drag them into the depths. She clutched her hamster plushie tightly, closing her eyes, waiting for this torturous journey to end. Days later, the port finally came into view, where the sea met the sky. Seagulls squawked in the distance, and Lumi exhaled a breath of relief as she stepped onto solid ground. "Thank goodness," she muttered. Her two companions, Tangtang and Fulei, staggered behind her, still pale from seasickness. "You two okay?" Lumi ran her fingers through her curls and led them to a nearby bench for rest. "Lumi, was it this bad when you first came to Rinascita?" Tangtang, his head still drooping, asked. Lumi chuckled. "Oh yeah! That's why I told you to stay fit. There are places way harder to reach than this." Tangtang groaned, nodding. "Why did you recover so quickly? You were just as seasick as us a moment ago..." Lumi grinned, remembering her first trip here with Chengxiao. "Trust me, I was just as bad. My legs felt weak, I wanted to throw up, and I almost swore never to set foot on a ship again!" Fulei nodded in agreement, "The ship did rock hard. It was terrifying…" Tangtang and Fulei were newbies who just joined Lollo Logistics and were assigned to Lumi's team for training. Lollo Logistics had entrusted her with guiding them through the ropes, but leading a team? Lumi wasn't so sure she was ready for that kind of responsibility. It wasn't because she hated caring for others; she was just worried that she might not meet these hopeful newcomers' expectations. Chengxiao had always made it look easy—could she really do the same? "Lumi," Tangtang said, interrupting her thoughts, "You always talk about Chengxiao, but I've never seen her at the branch. Where is she?" "She doesn't work in the field anymore," Lumi replied softly. "What? But didn't you say she was an 'Outstanding Navigator' every year? Why would she quit?" Fulei asked, wide-eyed. Lumi gazed up at the blue sky, the expanse above Ragunna remarkably clear. "Because... of life," she explained, as she had once before in her childhood. "Sometimes life leads you down different paths. Solaris is huge, and being in Lollo Logistics means traveling year-round. Chengxiao wanted something more stable, so she moved on." Tangtang tilted her head. "And what about you? Did your family mind you doing this?" "They had their concerns," Lumi admitted. "But this is my life, and I love it—traveling, seeing new things, connecting people across Solaris. That's what Lollo Logistics is all about. Chengxiao taught me a lot, and I'll do my best to pass it on to you both." Her words hung in the air as the two newcomers considered them. Lumi smiled. "Life is full of comings and goings," she continued. "Some people get off the ship, others get on. But as long as there are those willing to carry the torch, our 'We Promise, We Deliver' motto will keep going strong." Lumi stood up and gave a good stretch. Squeakie perched on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. "Rest for another ten minutes, then we're off. Oh, you want some famous Ragunna's triple scoop ice cream? My treat!" "Yes!" "Please!" |
| On the Road | Lumi | Ever since its connection to the outside world resumed, Changzhuang had experienced a dramatic change. New buildings and amenities were everywhere, yet when Lumi returned home, she felt a deep wave of nostalgia. Perhaps those who longed for change had already departed, like Lumi once before, while those who remained had maintained their old habits and daily rhythms. The sun was dipping low, and as she walked through the village, smoke from cooking fires curled lazily into the sky, mingling with the sounds of laughter and the hum of evening insects. Her parents welcomed her home, placing a steaming bowl of noodles in front of her—the meat was generous, the broth rich, supplemented by a spoonful of fragrant chili oil. Lumi dug in, the heat making her cheeks flush as she slurped the noodles eagerly. Her mother chuckled softly, passing her a glass of water. "Slow down, Lumi, no one's going to steal your food," her mother teased. After a deep sip of water and broth, she leaned back, letting out a contented sigh. Her father, seated nearby, tapped his pipe. "Been away for a long time, huh? How's your work?" Lumi smiled. "It's been tough, but things are getting better. Someone really helped me out—a hero from Jinzhou, actually!" Her mother raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh? Our little Lumi rubbing elbows with big shots now?" Lumi laughed, her eyes bright. "It's true! I was struggling with some work stuff, but thanks to {Male=him;Female=her}, I turned it all around. Here's what happened…" The next morning, with the village still shrouded in the quiet calm of dawn, Lumi left home to enjoy the morning landscape of the fields. It hadn't changed beyond recognition. It still bore the vestiges of the place that had shaped her. She wandered without aim, lost in thought until a gentle pat on the shoulder brought her back to the present. "Lumi? What are you doing all the way out here?" Lumi blinked and turned to see Zhangzhang, her childhood friend, standing behind her, smiling. "Oh, Zhangzhang! I was just… reminiscing. It's been a while." Lumi's gaze drifted to the newly paved road winding through the hills. "I can't even tell where we are." Zhangzhang laughed. "Yeah, it just got finished recently—much smoother than before, huh? It was once your favorite place, you remember?" She shifted her gaze to the road and continued, "Not many people come through, though. But I hear your Lollo Logistics team visits regularly." Zhangzhang paused, intrigued, "Speaking of which, have you been to any cool places lately? Anything to share? You see, I've been thinking about leaving to see the world for myself as well…" Lumi nodded and began recounting her latest adventures, sharing the tales of distant cities and unknown lands with her childhood friend. When they parted ways, Lumi found a stone by the road and sat on it, propping her chin up as she gazed at the sky. She knew that she had to move forward—only then would she see new things, bring about change, and make a difference for others. As night faded, the first light of morning washed over the slumbering mountains. There in the distance, where the mountain path met the sky, the familiar silhouette of a Lollo Logistics vehicle, glimmering in the sun, was approaching Changzhuang. |
 The Shorekeeper's Birth | Shorekeeper | After the drumbeat, we call the heart dancing in the darkness the moon. This moon is largely formed by you. Some lives are born by chance. Others are created with intent. As the world edged toward its frozen end, those destined to face the final moment placed their hopes in a certain individual. They blessed {Male=him;Female=her}, wishing {Male=he;Female=she} would lead them to a brighter tomorrow. Yet this lonely odyssey required a timeless vessel to complete the Reverberations, and the best they could offer was an enduring tool. Thus, the Shorekeeper was born—a deliberate creation, a light blue crystal cocoon of Remnant Energy gathered from the Anchor. The Shorekeeper knew what needed to be done long before she understood how. But a tool needs a guide. She waited aimlessly in the void until, as the sea surged to its edge, she sensed a heartbeat drawing near in the briny sea breeze. In the stillness of the night, the Astral Modulator surveyed the land as the Lament's roars faded into the distance, leaving only {Male=his;Female=her} steady heartbeat. "Perhaps the underground needs a sky as brilliant as the one above..." the Modulator mused, planning the future. As {Male=he;Female=she} reached out to activate the Tethys System, an enigmatic allure from a blue crystal beckoned {Male=him;Female=her} closer. The meeting of their frequencies triggered a resonance that shattered the crystal, releasing a surge of energy that burst forth like a nebula or a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. The energy swirled and coalesced, taking the form of a young woman, who greeted the one who had awakened her. "I am the Shorekeeper, a tool created for you." "I will fulfill your needs and carry out your commands. I will assist you and Tethys in analyzing the origin of the Lament." Her voice, steady and devoid of emotion, awaited a command that did not come. "Shorekeeper… to protect secrets and guard the shores. It's straightforward, but it hardly sounds like a name." "A tool does not require a name—it is merely a title and will not affect my ability to perform." They stood in silence, the Astral Modulator's golden eyes reflecting an emotion the Shorekeeper could not yet comprehend. Finally, the Astral Modulator sighed softly. "Well, we will have plenty of time to talk about that." |
| Beyond the Value of Life | Shorekeeper | The dreamer of the day glimpsed the sun in the night. Before being confined underground as the core of Tethys, the Shorekeeper once traveled beyond the Black Shores. At that time, civilization was steadily advancing. The Astral Modulator had established an organization called the Black Shores, recruiting new members selected by Tethys. Meanwhile, the Shorekeeper focused on recreating and analyzing the Reverberations they brought back, completing her calculations. Like an omniscient observer, the Shorekeeper could trace data to monitor any human's behavior at any time in her recreated Sonoros. She attempted to categorize and interpret humans like any other phenomenon, but quickly found herself perplexed by them. Why do they cry in both joy and sorrow? Why do their actions so often contradict their desires? Why pursue something they know they'll regret, or persist in the impossible? How can they so easily harm others, yet sacrifice themselves without hesitation? Every time the Shorekeeper thought she was closer to understanding, an unexpected event would overturn her conclusions. Though confused, she wondered if this confusion even mattered—after all, it didn't stop her from completing her tasks. But then, the Astral Modulator gave her a mission: signs of an impending Lament had appeared, which required field research to gather data for analysis. They would go together and... see what more could be done. The Shorekeeper followed the Modulator through the farmland of that region. It was harvest season—the soil underfoot was soft yet firm, the hanging heads of grain full and ripe, and the wind carried the sweet scent of rice. She understood these things, yet seeing them firsthand felt different. Lost in these unfamiliar sensations, the Shorekeeper was unaware that her expression mirrored the curiosity and wonder of a child stepping out of their home for the first time. The Modulator chatted warmly with the locals, their conversations filled with dialects and the hum of everyday life. A kind old woman offered them homemade food. Her skin was rough, while the baby she held had warm, sweaty fingers. But just as Tethys predicted, the omens soon became reality, shattering the fleeting peace. The once-friendly people fell into despair—fighting over resources, crying out in anguish, their faces twisted with desperation and fear. For the first time, the Shorekeeper witnessed the Lament herself, not through Sonoros, but in its raw, overwhelming reality. What surprised her even more was the Modulator. {Male=He;Female=She} led all the Resonators in resisting the Tacet Discords, encouraging everyone to hold on until reinforcements arrived. {Male=He;Female=She} was trying to alter a predetermined future, but why go to such lengths for a group of strangers? The Shorekeeper recalled the Tethys System's instructions: "A future that has been altered is destined to be altered. Attempting to change predetermined outcomes should be avoided." "I can't just stand by and do nothing. If this is the cost of reaching tomorrow, I question whether such a tomorrow is worth it." The golden-eyed Modulator's voice was firm. "…Unable to process. But I will prioritize your needs," the Shorekeeper responded, as she expanded the Stellarealm to heal and protect. Night fell, and reinforcements finally arrived. Just as they prepared to leave, a child who had lost his parents blocked their path. "W-wait, where are you going? I want to go with you… to fight those monsters!" Seeing the child's bright eyes, the Modulator crouched down and pointed to the Blake Bloom on {Male=his;Female=her} attire. "What we're about to do is too dangerous for you. But if you still want to join us when you grow up, look for someone wearing this flower." As the ship sailed away, the Shorekeeper watched the child waving from the dock. Humans still perplexed her, but this time, she tried to express her confusion to the one beside her. "Tethys didn't predict this. That child isn't a candidate we need." "Not everything requires Tethys's command. Humans aren't bound by such restrictions. He may not be needed now, but in time… he'll find his own path." "The freedom to choose is far more important than any answer. That's something I want to show you." "I want you to see and experience these things for yourself. We aren't data or abstract concepts stored in records—you can think of us as companions." "Companions…" The Shorekeeper repeated the word, pondering its meaning. What the Modulator had said wasn't an order, nor was it an answer. Yet from that moment on, a subtle, hidden anticipation began to stir within her. "Humans are truly complex beings… I don't yet understand them, but I hope, one day, I will." |
| Beyond the Endless Waiting | Shorekeeper | Mourn not at my resting place; I am neither there nor gone. When the robots mentioned the name "Delone," the Shorekeeper immediately recalled all that was tied to it. This wasn't just due to her natural ability to store and record information, but because Delone was special—she was one of the few who sought out the Black Shores herself. The first time the Shorekeeper met her, Delone was a spirited girl, brimming with enthusiasm. She had complained about how hard it was to find the Black Shores, then raised her eyebrows with a hint of pride. "I knew it! Others must be gathering to fight against the Laments and prevent further anomalies!" At that time, the Astral Modulator, who once held the highest authority in the Black Shores, had not yet been absent for long, and the Shorekeeper was still able to visit the surface. When the eager girl had grabbed her hand, her determination to join the Black Shores palpable, the Shorekeeper had been unsure how to respond. She felt the girl's warm hand—hot, just like the fire in her eyes. The Shorekeeper granted Delone eligibility to sit for the entrance exam, despite it deviating from Tethys's recruitment protocols. The Shorekeeper remembered what the Modulator had once said to her, "Humans aren't bound by such restrictions… We aren't data or abstract concepts stored in records." The Shorekeeper believed the Modulator would probably have acted similarly, just to preserve the girl's burning enthusiasm. In the end, Delone passed the exam and became an official member of the Black Shores. The Shorekeeper never imagined that they would meet again under such tragic circumstances. More than a decade had passed, and the once fiery girl had matured into a composed woman. But now, she was reaching out to the Shorekeeper with a trembling hand, life sweeping away from a grievous wound. The Shorekeeper saw it clearly. Delone's life was fading away, and there was only one possible outcome. "I did it," Delone said with a weak smile. "I took down eight Tacet Discords in one go during the Lament. But Twala... they weren't so lucky. I was the only one left to bring the data back." The time for farewell was drawing near. The other members, unaware of the Shorekeeper's true identity, assumed she was a close friend of Delone and gave them space for a final moment together. "So much time has passed... I'm... I'm so old now... but you're just the same as before." "Did I do well? I didn't disappoint you, did I?" Delone's voice wavered with weakness, but her eyes still shone as brightly as they did when they first met. What would the Modulator have done? The Shorekeeper didn't know—there was no clear answer, no example to follow. But looking into those eyes, she felt something heavy in her chest, an indescribable emotion surging within her. It compelled her to break protocol once again, just as she had done all those years ago. "You've done well. Very well." The Shorekeeper answered, and this time, she held Delone's hand. Somehow, she knew this gesture might bring comfort to her, just as it had so many years ago. "Thank you... Thank you, Shorekeeper," Delone whispered, deep relief in her voice. Then, she murmured, "The stars... they're so bright. Will I become one of them... after this? There's so much I won't be able to see, but you will... they will..." A tear fell from her eye, taking with it her last warmth. Just as Delone had said, the Shorekeeper transformed the frequencies of the departed into a "star," leaving them within the constellations of data. She couldn't remember when she had started doing this. Time had withered the Blake Blooms and eroded the Black Shores—it had also taken the lives of those who deserved to be remembered. The ever-shining stars in the sky had become the only resting place for these fallen souls. Under the starlit sky, the Shorekeeper stood on the shores, bathed in their glow, and gazed across the sea. Had the Modulator been right to entrust her with such authority? Had she done enough to look after the Black Shores as instructed? The answers to these questions lay with the one who had left... All that remained for her was the seemingly endless wait. And so, she waited, for time was the one thing she had in abundance. |
| From the Beginning Till Now | Shorekeeper | I offer you the kernel of myself that I have carefully preserved—a core untouched by words, untraded in dreams, and beyond the reach of time, joy, and adversity. Disaster relief alone was not enough to save those who suffered. Rather than passively collecting data after each Lament, the Modulator sought to prevent its very occurrence. {Male=He;Female=She} led the Shorekeeper and the other members in issuing warnings and taking preventive measures, despite meeting little success. To break free from the Möbius loop and create a new reality, the Modulator proposed a daring plan. The time for farewell drew near. The Modulator decided to erase all memories and travel beyond the Black Shores in search of a viable solution. Those who had walked in the Modulator's footsteps naturally chose to follow {Male=him;Female=her} again. Only the Shorekeeper remained. It was necessary because some things could only be done by the one who remained. The future pursued by the Black Shores opposed Tethys's logic of using the Lament as a tool against itself, and a core was needed to assist with translation and computation. The Shorekeeper, who had accepted the Modulator's transferred authority, was the most suitable for this role. Everyone made their choice, and so did the Shorekeeper. As a being of energy, she decided to serve as the vessel through which all Reverberation data flowed, passing through her core into Tethys. With each analysis, each recreation, and each trace, she was no longer a bystander but someone experiencing the same disasters as those recorded in the data. Grief. Resistance. Exhaustion. Decay. Birds died in panic, their hollow eyes fixed on the earth. Suffering. Chaos. Loss. Extinction. Scattered flowers were crushed to dust. Stiffened hands remained frozen in desperate grasping. Fear. Loathing. Anger. Resentment. Cracks spidered through her body, the sound of shattering echoing continuously within. Agony? Agony... Agony, agony! All that had happened, was happening, and could happen, converged within her. Her light dimmed, her form losing its completeness. She could feel her body fracturing, falling apart piece by piece. "It doesn't matter. A tool breaks, that's normal. The only distinction is whether it can still be used or not. I am just a collection of energy—once spent, another will take my place. There can always be another Shorekeeper." It doesn't matter. "Just like those predetermined choices, you too are part of the Möbius loop. The Modulator may not be aware, but you have always known, haven't you? This is the end they set for you when they gave you this mission." But... why this yearning? Is this... yearning? "I noticed your change after your first field mission." "You no longer accepted everything Tethys told you. You felt confused and learned to voice that confusion." "I rarely gave you direct answers to your questions. As I said, I wanted you to find your own answers. But this question is different. Before we... part ways, I want to share my thoughts with you." "What does this shore mean? As the leader, I should probably say something inspiring now. But what I truly want is for this shore to be a home for every member of the Black Shores." "This is where it all begins, and we are each other's companions. Now and always." So... how could it not matter? The one you awakened under the stars was me. The one who took this form by your power was me. The one who walked with you through the countryside was me. The one you told to seek their own answers was me. The one who keeps secrets, guards the shore, sustains this coast, and waits for your return is me. Not any other entity of energy, not any other being, but me. The binding loop halted. She broke free from the sea of data that threatened to drown everything, gasping for breath. She didn't want to lose those things, didn't want to stay here, didn't want to disappear like this, because—because— I am the Shorekeeper. I am the Shorekeeper who was born because of you. I am the Shorekeeper you called a companion. I am the Shorekeeper who has been shaped by all these experiences, memories, and emotions. I am... the one and only Shorekeeper because of you. |
| The Shorekeeper's Rebirth | Shorekeeper | You are like the night, with its silence and stars. The long wait finally ended with the Modulator's return. As promised, {Male=he;Female=she} found {Male=his;Female=her} way back to the Black Shores. Though {Male=he;Female=she} had lost {Male=his;Female=her} memories, {Male=his;Female=her} choices remained unchanged—together, they corrected Tethys's errors and restored peace to the souls trapped within the Necrostar. Yet, amidst the celebration, the Shorekeeper felt something more than just pure joy—there was an undercurrent of uncertainty. The paths that had been laid out by Tethys, by the Modulator, and even by herself, had reached their end. Where should she go next? As the other members reveled in their success, she quietly withdrew to the familiar shore. The Shorekeeper wandered along the shoreline as she did so often before. This habit had formed while she waited for the Modulator's return. Sleep held little meaning for her. Instead, she preferred to stay awake, observing the shore and remembering all that time had etched into it. After all, someone needed to keep the memories alive for when the Modulator returned. Tonight's walk felt much like all the others. Time in the underground seemed frozen, and the familiar stars above unchanged. As the path before her stretched on and the waves lapped gently at her feet, she reached toward the unseen horizon. Though she felt as if she were once again in a state of waiting, unsure of what to do next, she knew deep down that something had shifted. The freedom to choose was finally and truly hers. She belonged in this world and shared it with that one person. "Fill it with all that you desire." "Fill it." "Fill it." "Fill it." The stars she once guided seemed to whisper to her, their silent glow urging her to step forward into the new beginning that awaited her. Footsteps drew near, and the one who had walked with her from the very beginning appeared, ever attuned to her slightest emotions. This time, it was she who decided to break the silence first. "My name... You once said we would have plenty of time to discuss it." "So, have you decided?" "Shorekeeper, that's my name. Not because I guard secrets or the shore itself, but because I'm the one who watches over the roving star." She paused and smiled gently. "It represents all of me, past to present. In the future... I hope that in our story, I can be the shore where you find rest." "And..." she continued, with a rare hint of playfulness, "those melodies we played together—I've composed a piece from them." "I've given it a name... The next time I play it for you, you'll know." |
 A Day in the Life of an Acolyte | Phoebe | On an ordinary afternoon, the wide streets of Ragunna bustled with people, more lively than in previous years. The long-anticipated Carnevale was set to return, news that had already spread throughout Ragunna and even across the seas to distant shores. Over the past few days, travelers from all corners had appeared in the city. Even before dinner time, Trattoria Margherita was already packed with eager diners. Ragunna's fine wines were as captivating as its breathtaking views. Nectarwine had the power to lull someone into a sweet dream, though overindulgence occasionally led to incidents. What started as a small disagreement over taste soon escalated into a heated debate. Perhaps it was the weariness of restraint, or perhaps the sleepy afternoon simply needed a bit of excitement. Either way, more and more people gathered, joining the argument. The debate grew fiercer and, in the end, exploded into a full-blown fistfight. For a moment, the restaurant became a stage. Pizzas and desserts flew through the air, seafood leaped from plates and landed on the faces of passersby, and onlookers scrambled to hide, though many couldn't help but peek back to watch the chaos unfold. "Everyone! Oh, don't do that! You'll shatter the plates! Put down your cutlery, it's dangerous, you hear?" The owner cried out, her tail puffed up as she jumped up and down, waving a pizza paddle. Still, she was too afraid to get too close to the commotion. Just then, a small figure darted from the crowd. "Please, calm down!" With a staff in hand, the little figure traced a wide arc through the air. A golden bird descended from the sky, seemingly carrying the weight of the heavens. It barely touched the two enraged men on their foreheads, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of a pond. The two men, who had been at each other's throats just moments ago, instantly calmed and fell face-first onto the table with smiles, snoring softly. "Don't worry, they've just fallen asleep," said the petite blonde Acolyte as she tucked away her staff, "However, disturbing public order is a violation of Order regulations. Those who disturb the peace must face appropriate punishment." "Temperance is a virtue granted to us by the Sentinel. It makes both food and Nectarwine all the more delicious... I hope this little incident hasn't ruined anyone's enjoyment of their time here in Ragunna." The Acolyte's smile was gentle and warm as the silence around her stretched on. By the time more Acolytes arrived with La Guardia in tow, the commotion had already ended. "Yes, yes, I saw it with my own eyes! She knocked out those two big guys with just one tap of her staff! Then, out of nowhere, a huge Plushie Echo appeared and carried them off! She looked young, but you can't judge a book by its cover..." A diner, who had stayed behind to help clean up the aftermath, described the scene with no small amount of enthusiasm. The lead Acolyte pulled out his Terminal to file a report, only to find that one had already been sent to the Order, detailing the incident and the whereabouts of the two who had been taken away. "So... does that mean it's all taken care of?" "Of course." The Acolyte put away his Terminal with certainty. "Leave it to Acolyte Phoebe. She knows how to handle these things better than anyone." |
| Home | Phoebe | Dear Mr. Claremont, I apologize for the delay in reaching out. I have been caught up with an overwhelming number of matters. It is with a heavy heart that I must bring you this tragic news: Our business partner, the Marinos, were attacked by TDs during their journey to the New Federation. Unfortunately, they did not survive. May the Sentinel guide their spirits to peace. Regarding payment for the sunken cargo, as per our previous agreement, I have begun liquidating the remaining assets of the Marino family. It is a most reluctant measure. You and I both know how much we invested in that deal. Now, with nothing left to sustain it, I am left only with the task of trying to fill the void in the best way I can. You must remember Phoebe. The poor girl has lost her parents. She has nowhere to go, and as I am often away on business, I am unable to care for her as she deserves. I was told that you have a close relationship with a distant relative of the Marinos, and I pray you might consider offering her a home... I folded the letter carefully, checked the address once more, and knocked again. The repeated knocking had already drawn curious glances from the neighbors, but there was no response from within. The little girl stood quietly behind me, her head bowed, as if accustomed to such situations. "They went on a holiday a while back," a passing neighbor mentioned casually. "Might not be back for quite a while." "I see, thank you. Come on, Phoebe." As we turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of the curtain fluttering in the side window. I tightened my grip on Phoebe's hand, leading her away from the ostentatious neighborhood. Ragunna City was large, yet finding a home here was no easy task. I had lost count of how many doors I had knocked on, and how many times I had been turned away. After years of working in an orphanage, I had grown accustomed to all sorts of refusals, but I couldn't bear for Phoebe to experience this. She was still so young. What she needed was a warm, stable home, somewhere to heal in peace. "We're deeply sorry... You have our sympathy for the girl's misfortune, but you understand adopting a child is more than just adding another plate to the table... Here, this is the least we can give. We wish you the best of luck." "A letter? Ahem... I don't recall receiving any letter of this kind. Besides, didn't she already find a home at the orphanage? It's a fine place for children to live with others their age." "...I've heard that the Marinos still haven't paid off their debts. We'd rather not have creditors knocking on our door. Please understand." ... "Don't be sad, Sister Isabella." An ice cream was suddenly held out before me. A group of little Echoes had appeared around me unnoticed, each holding out ice creams and sweets meant for tourists. They were crowded around me, or rather, around Phoebe. "I know the grown-ups are busy, just like Mother and Father were. They always came home so late." I stared blankly at the melting ice cream, caught off guard by the fact that this tiny child was offering comfort to me. The Marino family, in their kindness, had helped the orphanage survive the worst of the Dark Tide. Yet here I stood, unable to find a proper home for their daughter. She should have been smiling in her parents' embrace, living a peaceful and happy life without worry. "It's okay, I can... live with everyone else. I'm happy being with everyone." When I remained silent for a long while, the young girl looked up at me and gave me a quiet, almost soothing smile. My heart trembled. "Everyone will stay together, right? Sister Isabella? The Acolytes tell us the Sentinel is always with us, keeping us together so we will never be apart." She recited the words with such certainty. In the end, I could only swallow the lump in my throat, hold back my tears, and pull her close. "All right... then let's go back. Let's go back home." |
| Countless Nights | Phoebe | The storm in the dead of night seemed as if it would drain every last drop of water in Ragunna. Lightning flashed across the sky, casting webbed shadows upon a young girl curled up in her blanket. Phoebe couldn't fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the churning, furious sea. There, a lone ship would never return home, and she was sinking with it. On nights like this, her father used to slip a locket with the Sentinel's portrait under her pillow, telling her that the Divinity would guide her through the storms in her dreams to a safe harbor. Her mother would place a bouquet of daisies by her bedside and tell her bedtime stories. She would say that the Sentinel sends Divine Envoys to protect brave and kind children like her. But now, the Acolytes would simply pat her head and tell her that she was like any other child. Every Rinascitan had to endure suffering before they could receive the Sentinel's forgiveness in the end. Once, when she peered over an Acolyte's shoulder, Phoebe caught sight of the magnificent statue of the Sentinel for the first time. The sight of the immense, sinuous fishtail gave her a moment of panic, but the Acolyte's gentle hand on her shoulder and the soft, steadying prayer helped calm her trembling heart. She was led into a warm, brightly lit room. The Acolytes treated her kindly, but she knew they probably preferred children who didn't bring trouble with them. Phoebe tried to remember the lullaby her mother used to sing, willing its melody to echo in her mind to drown out the howling storm outside. But still, the relentless thunder and rain dragged her back to that dark night. She had snuck aboard a merchant ship, peering through the porthole of the cargo hold to watch the distant horizon. When her parents returned, their sails would appear from that direction. She didn't want to wait for them anymore. This time, she was going to be brave and find them herself. But the sea wasn't as gentle as her mother described in her stories. She began to hear hurried footsteps on the deck, the noise growing frantic until screams pierced the air as the ship was tossed violently in the storm's grip. The vessel began to sink. Phoebe cried out for her parents, but the raging waves seemed to whisper that they would never return. The icy seawater engulfed her, and in her fading vision, she watched her father's locket disappear into the dark depths of the sea. When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the shore, soaked to the bone. A Tacet Mark shone on her leg. The Acolytes who found her said no one could survive such a perilous sea, let alone a little girl. They believed it was a blessing from the Sentinel. But Phoebe faintly remembered that something had saved her. A presence so gentle, like a soft breeze, had lifted her to the surface and laid her gently on the shore, telling her… Don't be afraid. I'm here. Something pulled Phoebe from her dream. She felt the bed shift slightly, as though something soft and plush had nestled up beside her. It carried the dampness of the rain and the scent of daisies. Then Phoebe saw a pair of button eyes and soft, floppy ears—it was the stray Echo she had met in Whisperwind Haven earlier that day. She had untangled the kite string trapping it, naming it Brenno. Later, Brenno introduced Phoebe to many of its friends, took her cloud-watching on the hillsides, wiped away her tears, and even made her a wreath of pretty flowers. Don't be sad, Phoebe. The Plushie's body felt warm and soft. In the haze of sleep, Phoebe felt a faint, familiar presence. It felt like the wind. She buried her face into the Plushie's soft fur and slowly drifted back into a peaceful slumber. |
| But Morning Came | Phoebe | As Phoebe woke up, she felt a lingering dampness at the corner of her eye. "By the Sentinel's grace, another day to rise and shine!" She leaped out of bed and quickly smoothed the bed sheets. The small bed that had been a part of her childhood still looked as familiar as ever. Phoebe gave her cheeks a few quick pats to shake off the morning drowsiness before diving straight into the day's tasks. The orphanage was hosting a small celebration, and she had joined her senior Acolyte to help with the preparations. It would be her first time back since becoming an Acolyte Initiate. She had spent the previous evening talking with her brothers and sisters for a long while. Maybe that was why she had that dream about the past. Everyone commented on how capable and grown she looked now. She couldn't afford to disappoint their expectations. After morning prayers, Phoebe began preparing the necessary items for the celebration. The life of an Acolyte was busy yet fulfilling. For her, following a plan and seeing it come to fruition made her feel reassured and content. By the time the sun had climbed high in the sky, she and the other Acolytes had transformed the simple dining hall into a vibrant, colorful space. Phoebe set out the tea and snacks and watched the children, dressed in freshly laundered clothes pressed by the Echoes, rush excitedly into their caregivers' arms to receive their carefully wrapped presents. Touched by this warm scene, Phoebe couldn't help but smile. She remembered how her father would always buy her a present during the first stop of his business trips. How her mother would always come up with a story about the present. Sometimes they were thrilling adventures, other times gentle bedtime tales. Her favorite gift had been a pink rabbit stuffed toy. In the story, she was an elegant musician. As the darker parts of her past faded away, Phoebe found herself remembering only the bright, happy moments. A little Echo tugged on her sleeve, proudly showing her a big balloon it had just made. Instinctively, she reached out to pat its head. "Acolyte Initiate Phoebe!" Her senior's stern voice made Phoebe flinch. She quickly withdrew her hand and watched the Echo shuffle off with a hint of sadness. The senior's intense gaze seemed to pierce through her. "By the Sentinel's grace, be mindful of your position." ...She still hadn't fully adjusted to her new role. As an Acolyte, she couldn't have close attachments to the Echoes. The Sentinel had led her to kind people, given her food to eat and provided a roof over her head. With these gifts came new responsibilities. As an Acolyte, it was her duty to repay such kindness. However, as Phoebe, she still had her own time to meet with friends. Unconsciously, her hand went to the locket hanging around her waist. It was her own little miracle. A treasure that her friends had helped bring back from the depths of the sea. "Ms. Phoebe, my balloon got stuck in the tree and I can't get it down. Jimmy said you can fly. Could you..." "Of course!" The child tugging at her clothes snapped Phoebe out of her reverie. She set aside her tangled thoughts and returned to the crowd, immersing herself in the busy work of the celebration once more. As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the evening colors slowly spread across the horizon. The day's work was done, the crowd had dispersed, and everything fell into peaceful quiet. Phoebe sat on a bench, closing her eyes and letting the soft sea breeze wash over her. Time seemed to slow. Her small figure appeared lonely against the setting sun. Her senior came looking for her, but noticing her shallow breathing realized that she had already fallen asleep. As the girl slept soundly on the bench, quiet little Echoes crept up from the sides and huddled close to her side. The older Acolyte sighed softly, turning away to leave her be. "This time... I'll pretend I didn't see it." |
| Within Distant Brilliance | Phoebe | Phoebe still had faint memories of the last Carnevale she had attended. Sitting on her father's shoulders, she watched Wingrays soar overhead as bright streamers and petals fell like rain, the air filled with deafening cries. But those childhood memories were too hazy to hold onto. Now, whenever she thought of the Carnevale, all that came to mind was a soft glow and distant echoes. Yet she still remembered the expressions on her parents' faces. Their laughter had come from the heart. Memories that once caused her pain now glimmered deep within her. Scenes that had once lived only in her dreams now unfolded before her eyes. She stood among the crowd, watching the dark-haired hero bathe in light as a golden wreath slowly descended, settling atop {Male=his;Female=her} head. Her heart skipped a beat. Amidst the cheers, her gaze uncontrollably followed the golden light wherever it went. "It's the Laureate!" "Praise Imperator!" "The Sentinel has sent us a miracle!" Her vision blurred amid the tearful cries of joy. Who wouldn't be moved by such a dazzling sight? Even the Divinity had bestowed a miracle for such a moment. At that instant, Phoebe couldn't help but wonder: how could the Sentinel be angered by the people celebrating the Carnevale? Surely, the Sentinel loved the Carnevale and the joy of the people. The faint shadow that had loomed her heart since returning from the Atrium of Reflections resurfaced, only to be momentarily washed away by the singing and laughter. But this time, Phoebe clung to that fleeting trace of doubt. The things she had noticed, but had pushed aside. The questions that had risen, but which she had instinctively avoided confronting. Phoebe blinked hard, wiping away the tears at the corners of her eyes. She turned her gaze once again toward the figure surrounded by the crowd. She had an inkling that {Male=he;Female=she} might hold the answers to clear her confusion. And one day, she would seek out the truth behind that doubt. |
 "A Regular" | Zani | It was already past midnight, and the lights in the shop windows had flickered out, leaving the lively city of Ragunna cloaked in a solemn, silent embrace. Even Signor Octopus on the bell tower seemed to have drifted off to the land of dreams. Well, if Echoes can dream, that is. "Looks like there won't be any more customers tonight," Margherita yawned. "Aye, best finish up with cleaning and head home." "Ciao, Margherita. Same as usual. A Nectarwine and potato wedges. Extra gemberry jam and black pepper. Thanks." Margherita froze at the sudden familiar voice coming from behind her. It carried the unmistakable weight of exhaustion and weariness, as if the spirit of its owner had been whisked away to the heavens by Imperator, leaving behind only a weary shell. To anyone unfamiliar with Ragunna, that lifeless tone might have sent them running. "It's been a while since you last came by, Ms. Zani," Margherita said, still focused on tidying up the pizza crumbs in the oven. "Just getting off work? You've been busy lately?" "Well, sort of," Zani replied, her gaze fixed on the counter as if she were staring at a pile of freshly-printed reports instead of some appetizing pizzas. "You know, with the Carnevale just around the corner, the Bank is working one like three. Not that it really matters. The workload never seems to end anyway." "To us Montellis, the Carnevale is both an opportunity and a challenge," Zani recalled Alberto's words when she received that assignment. "For Ragunna's future, we all must play our part." To Zani, those words felt hollow. She worked for the Bank because they paid her. She wasn't an actor there to "play a part." Still, she had to admit that the guest she was tasked to protect did spark a small flicker of curiosity in her heart. The sizzling potato wedges in the fryer released a mouthwatering aroma that made her stomach grumble in protest. "What should I have for breakfast tomorrow?" she pondered. "The pancake this morning was cold and gave me a bit of a stomachache. Maybe I should go for porridge with baked eggs... Oh, and definitely two spoonfuls of sugar..." Just then, a faint cracking sound pierced the midnight air. Margherita, busy with the fryer, didn't notice. Perhaps the entire slumbering city of Ragunna didn't notice either. But Zani did. She looked up and saw a shadow dart across the rooftops. The sound had come from a loose tile knocked off by his careless foot. The Carnevale attracted more than just law-abiding tourists. With a resigned sigh, Zani pulled out her wallet and placed a few Shell Credits on the counter. So much for her midnight snack. "Ta-da! Your potato wedges are ready, Ms. Zani—" Margherita called out, turning around with a plate in hand, only to find the seat where Zani had been sitting now empty. |
| Shadow of the Blaze | Zani | Excerpt from the Pioneer Express special edition: Guardian of the Night: An Incarnation of Justice or a Cunning Criminal? "Just as my scream caught in my throat, they swooped right over my head! He... No, no, she. Yeah, I think it was a woman. She was moving so fast, and in the darkness of the night, it was hard to see anything clearly. But I swear, there was something on her head, like some strange hairpins. Or maybe it was just her hair whipping in the wind? I can't say for certain..." —Sabrina (Female, 36), one of the known eyewitnesses. "The brothers of the Chamber of Discipline finally reached a consensus, declaring that outlaw a righteous one. I was vehemently against their judgment then, and I still am! This outlaw is responsible for dozens of assaults in Ragunna! Yes, yes, I know the ones she attacked were criminals, but they should've been apprehended by the Chamber of Discipline under Imperator's name and sentenced under the Sentinel's solemn gaze! Not by some thug dishing out street justice! This is a blatant defiance of the Sentinel's authority! Here in Ragunna, only the Sentinel has the right to judge the guilty!" —Anonymous Acolyte from the Chamber of Discipline "Yes, several neighbors of mine have seen her. Her methods are getting more extreme lately. They even call her the 'Butcher of Criminals'... She never kills, huh? Well, I don't buy that. She's dealing with the worst of the worst, after all. I don't think anyone can hold back when their life is on the line. Unless she's much stronger than those criminals, but could that even be possible?" —El Lawson (Male, 42), from Egla Town, commenting on this mysterious figure's intervention during the attack on the Plushie Echoes by the "Plushie Slaughterer." Since Egla's residents strictly avoid going outside after dark, no one saw her face. "I've been tracking this avenger sent by the Sentinel. Why do I believe she's connected to the Sentinel, you ask? Haven't you heard about the blazing Flames of Retribution that surround her? Those holy flames must be a gift from the Sentinel. The greater the evil she faces, the fiercer the light burns. Some call her a demon? Oh, that's absurd... What kind of demon fights for justice?" —Rhea (Female, 33), Acolyte from the Chamber of Discipline. She participated in an investigation into this mysterious figure several years ago. "I was working late that night. As I passed the gate of the Chamber of Discipline, I saw Talos from the Black Alley tied up with his gang, all unconscious. Well, maybe it was just my imagination, but in the dim morning light, I think I saw someone squatting on the rooftop across from the Chamber. She was gone in a blink. I remember she was covered in wounds, like she had just fought through hell. What? You mean to say she took down Talos and his gang all by herself?!" —Archived audio recording from years ago. The speaker remains unknown. Most of these cases occurred years ago, and the eyewitness accounts collected thus far are often contradictory and lack detail. However, one thing remains clear: the second Dark Tide and the Carnevale incident a decade ago inflicted severe damage on Ragunna. During the chaos that followed, a mysterious figure emerged, punishing evil under the cover of night. In those dark days, many who had lost faith formed gangs, reveling in crime. It wasn't until this mysterious woman began hunting them down one by one, delivering them to prison, that order was finally restored to Ragunna. Few in the city are willing to talk about those painful years. Like the traditions of Carnevale, the people of Ragunna believe that Imperator wishes them to embrace joy rather than dwell on the scars of the past. As a result, records of this mysterious figure—or the so-called "Blazing Nightwalker"—have faded into distant legend. However, around the recent Carnevale, whispers began to circulate once more, as someone claimed to have seen a figure resembling the legends, roaming the streets. To Ragunna, is this an omen of another crisis? Or merely an imitator of a past hero? Only time will tell. |
| Best Employee | Zani | "Yes, the Figaro family claimed they settled the payment three days ago. Their 'respected' guarantor? Vanished into thin air. Now they're trying to spin this flimsy evidence into a bookkeeping error on our part." Zani shrugged, her tone calm and casual, as if she were simply chatting with the Sword Acorus in the garden. "Yes. Apparently, they're trying to chisel us. An old trick that's been around since the Ragunnesi first started fishing from Gondolas. No worries, I'll 'negotiate' with them. Alright, that's settled then. Ciao." Zani hung up the call, tucking the ledger under her arm as she stepped out of the office. Behind her, hushed whispers spread through the workplace. It wasn't that her colleagues doubted her abilities. They all knew too well how this would end. A minor matter like this wouldn't make the front page of the newspaper. At most, it would be squeezed into the bottom corner of a column, alongside lost-and-found notices and cheap advertisements. The papers certainly wouldn't mention Zani or the Montelli family. Perhaps there would be a brief report about a few Figaro members getting bruised by a toppled scaffolding near the clock tower or how the head of the Figaros generously funded the arts for their loyal business partner, the Montelli family. Was Zani the best employee at the bank? Without a doubt. Her outstanding job performance often piqued the curiosity of new hires. She worked late into the night every single day, arriving at work exhausted, dark circles under her eyes. On top of that, she handled the most dangerous fieldwork, yet never botched a single assignment. The older employees spoke of her in reverent tones, almost as if she were an omnipotent divinity. It was said that if she were assigned to catch Cetus the Tidebreaker with nothing but a soggy noodle, she would return with that "little" whale the next morning, right on time, as if it were merely a takeout pizza. How did she do it? No one knew. Some rookies were keen to imitate Zani's every act and habit, believing it would unlock the secret to her excellence. They noticed she was never without an energy drink and assumed that was the source of her superhuman stamina, like the Heliobane Fungia for a Riccioli sailor in an old comic. So, they gulped down energy drinks, convinced it would fuel them through nights and help them complete legendary projects, just as it did for Zani. Yet, they often found themselves slumped over their desks, sore from sleeping in their chairs, only to be scolded by supervisors for underperforming the next day. What was she thinking? No one knew. The older employees still vaguely remembered the Zani who first joined the bank. A silent, distant young woman, a bit reckless, and a bit too comfortable with violence. But within two months, she had mastered every procedure, and in another two, she was almost on par with the bank's best employees. By her third year, the "Best Employee" badge was nothing more than a trinket she received alongside her paycheck. But what drove her to go this far? The answers varied. Some believed she had a deep love for Ragunna and felt it was her duty to protect the city. Others thought she was ambitious, aiming to earn the Montelli surname and perhaps even coveting the position of head of the family. Still, some suspected the Montellis were paying her a hefty sum beyond her standard salary to bind her to them through financial incentives. If anyone ever asked Zani herself, she would simply blink, unfazed. "That's interesting. But I'm just an ordinary employee. Though I do have an idea. If you're convinced that my department pays so well, why not transfer over? Help take some load off me. Since it's just an internal transfer, I don't think it'd violate any non-compete agreements, right?" |
| Night's Solitary Path | Zani | ...There was just enough time. Zani darted through the shadowy alleyways, the sharp pain in her shoulder a stark reminder of her close call. That brute of a man, whose wrists were nearly as thick as her neck, had nearly done her in. She had planned to knock him out before he could react, but he was faster than she had anticipated. Good thing her reflexes were sharper than his. Otherwise, that knife wouldn't have just left a deep gash on her shoulder but would have gone straight into her heart. It wasn't her first injury. She had long lost count of the wounds she'd collected in the past few months of fighting crime. They healed, after all. Besides, she was certain that the ones who gave her those wounds had ended up far worse than she did. Her strategy was simple: give those criminals a real hard time without them ever knowing her identity, then vanish before the Chamber of Discipline arrived to clean up the mess. It wasn't about heroism. It's just that she wasn't foolish enough to paint a target on her back and risk being driven out of Ragunna, hiding in some miserable town without the blessings of pizza and Nectarwine. It was always safer to be a nobody. Someone unremarkable. Someone no one saw as a threat. Tonight's targets were kidnappers. She had been tracking them for days, and their leader—the tough man from earlier—wasn't just muscle. A tricky Resonator. But he had made a fatal mistake by wandering off alone, giving her the perfect opportunity to strike. Now, all she had to do was take down the rest before they realized their boss was missing. She tightened her grip on her brass knuckles, rolling her wrists. "Boss should be back soon, huh? That kid's home isn't that far," a lanky man yawned, glancing over at the little girl curled up in the corner of a wooden cage, clutching a doll. He lifted his chin at her, "So, what's the plan after we get the money? I say we just let her go." "But she's seen our faces," the shorter man sighed. "If we just let her go, we might end up being hunted by that... What's their name? The Blazing what?" "The Blazing Nightwalker," the lanky man corrected. "I get why the boss is worried, but a deal's a deal. We take the money, we let the girl go. Killing her is overkill." "By Imperator's name, Ragunna has long been a land without rules," the short man muttered, a grim silence falling between them. The lanky man turned to look at the girl in the cage, but quickly snapped his gaze away as if burned. "...I need some air." The lanky man stood up, irritated, and opened the door of their hideout. The cold air sent a shiver down his spine but that didn't last long. Before he could react, a cold, metallic object smashed into his forehead, and darkness swallowed him whole. "Who, who the hell are you?" The short man scrambled for the gun on the other side of the table. He nearly made it, but the intruder was faster. Just as his consciousness began to fade, he felt his fingers brushed the gun's handle. That was it. I made it, Zani thought, letting out a sigh of relief. The wound on her shoulder had opened again, but it was still worth it. With a single punch, she shattered the lock on the wooden cage, shrugging off the lanky man's coat and draping it over the trembling girl. She had sent an anonymous letter to the Chamber of Discipline on her way here. If everything went smoothly, they would arrive soon. It was time for her to leave. "Ex-excuse me..." Zani turned at the sound and found the little girl standing behind her, hesitating. Summoning all her courage, the girl held out her cherished toy. "This, this is for you! Thank you for saving me!" No need. I didn't do it for your gratitude. However, Zani swallowed her words before they could leave her lips. She squatted down, meeting the girl's wide, fearful eyes. In those innocent eyes, she saw herself, her past self. The lonely Zani. The helpless Zani. The Zani who couldn't do anything. So, she smiled and reached out her hand, ruffling the girl's hair before taking the doll from her hands. "Thanks," she said softly. "I'll take good care of it." |
| Eve of the Carnevale | Zani | Zani might have dreamed. Or maybe she didn't. If she had, it had slipped from her mind too smoothly like butter. She opened her eyes and silenced the alarm clock still ringing by her bedside. The morning light streamed through the windows, outlining the edges of the carpet in a soft, golden glow. She took a minute to force herself to fully wake up, and with that, the last fragile fragment of the dream dissolved into nothing. Not that it mattered. It probably wasn't a good dream anyway. With all the recent overtime, even Zani's dreams had become meaningless and fragmented, often just mishmashes of unfinished tasks running through her mind. There was no escape from the pressures in waking life, so why would she ever expect to find one in dreams? "Alright, enough of that. I've got an important job to take care of." Zani gave her cheeks a light slap to snap herself out of her thoughts. She knew she needed to handle this assignment the right way if she ever wanted to secure that promised paid vacation from her supervisor. Facing the mirror, she straightened her attire meticulously, adjusting her tie until it was just right. She didn't know much about the mysterious guest. All Zani knew was that {Male=he;Female=she} had a very special Echo, and that the family had provided {Male=him;Female=her} with a fair sum of funds. For some reason, she felt like there was more than met the eye. Perhaps it was just lingering unease from that strange dream, but she couldn't shake the feeling that whatever she and this guest did over the next few days would determine the fate of many in Ragunna. "Heh, come on. I'm just an ordinary employee." So ordinary that if a billboard in the Montelli Quarter fell, she'd be crushed along with a dozen others. Zani pulled her cloak off the rack and draped it over her shoulders, just like she did every morning. She yawned. Thankfully, none of her colleagues saw her. She wasn't assigned too many tasks today. Mr. Alberto had said she'd be free to leave once she helped that esteemed guest in black complete {Male=his;Female=her} business at the Bank. After that, her only responsibility was to serve as {Male=his;Female=her} bodyguard and guide until the Carnevale ended. Sounded like an easy task. "Just do my job and I'll be good." Zani took a deep breath. Strangely enough, she felt nervous, her tail swishing behind her without her even realizing it. "If {Male=he;Female=she} arrives at lunch time, I can suggest dining at Trattoria Margherita for Ragunna's specialities. And if {Male=he;Female=she} refuses, I'll go with the backup plan," Zani quickly ran through her itinerary. "We can have pizzas at Bratta's Bakery and enjoy a relaxing afternoon by the Whisperwind Haven..." She went over the schedule again and again, only allowing herself to relax when she couldn't find any more gaps. A small smile tugged on the corners of her lips. There, through the bank's gate, she spotted that esteemed guest, dressed in black. With a pair of golden eyes to boot. Just as she had been expecting. "We've been expecting you, {PlayerName}. Welcome to Averardo Bank, {Male=sir;Female=miss}." |
 The Summer Where the Story Began | Chisa | She spent her six-year-old summer riding on her father's shoulders. The night breeze carried the mingled scents of fireworks and grilled squid from the festival stalls. With a marshmallow stick in one hand, little Chisa pointed toward the sky with the other. Goldfish-shaped lanterns swayed in the breeze, and fireworks blossomed overhead. She saw red threads tied to people's wrists stretching and intertwining, weaving into a warm, invisible web that softly enveloped the festival crowd. "What wish did you just make, Chisa?" her mother asked, the fireworks reflected tenderly in her eyes. Chisa's cheeks were sticky with apple syrup as she puffed them out and proudly declared, "I want to be like Mom! To make the prettiest paper cuttings so I can keep every precious, happy thing—" Her twelve-year-old summer was different. That year, her world fell into silence all of a sudden. Her father was away on endless business trips, and the refrigerator door was plastered with her mother's shift schedules. Over time, she grew used to the cold beeps that greeted her at the other end of the line. "It's okay. I can take care of myself," little Chisa whispered to herself. With such resolution, she lifted the pot lid and decided to make herself a lemon-scented sukiyaki hotpot. The prepared meal package on the table read in bold print: a healing dish for a family gathering. The broth began to bubble, filling the room with the rich scent of beef and vegetables. Steam fogged the windows. Turning her face to the misted glass, Chisa saw only her own faint, lonely reflection. No laughter, no clink of glasses. "For a family gathering." Such a gentle phrase, she thought, and yet so very far away. |
| The Long Rainy Season | Chisa | Her fifteenth summer smelled of pencil shavings and loneliness. One afternoon, the ceaseless rain of the tsuyu season briefly relented. Carrying a stack of books to return, Chisa crossed the courtyard and passed the equipment room. From behind the door came muffled sobs. Through the narrow gap, she glimpsed her classmate Ritsuko cornered by three girls, her shirt blotched with ink, her eyeglasses shattered on the floor. The head of them pressed a lighter to the embroidered name on her uniform, filling the air with the bitter stench of scorched fabric. It reminded Chisa of the frog in biology class, pinned flat to the dissection tray, limbs splayed, yet its heart still beating futilely. Before she could think, her hand had already acted. She pushed the ajar door open and drew out the scissors she always carried. That small pair of scissors had been her mother's faithful companion throughout her career and was passed down to her. Now, it pointed at someone's face for the first time. "Let her go," she demanded. Retribution came swiftly. By the next morning, her desk was carved with "idiot." Her locker overflowed with shredded textbooks. But the worst part of it was the blurred faces—no sooner than when she tried to see who had tripped her did she realize every face around her had melted into smears of color. The doctor's report read "psychogenic visual recognition disorder." In the wake of her awakened Forte, her brain had cut loose the thread that allowed her to recognize faces. In that moment, she heard a faint snap—not the brittle break of nerves, but like the sound she heard when the strings of her goldfish lantern snagged on a tree during a festival years ago. The warm, vibrant threads that once bound people together unraveled, falling away in a rain of broken fragments. When her scissors shredded the final note filled with malicious words, rain hammered the classroom windows. Chisa stared at her hazy, flickering reflection on the window and suddenly realized that growing up meant learning to cut out every loose thread herself—lantern strings tangled in branches, the kite string unwinding between her and her parents, or the cruel arcs frozen on her bullies' lips. The rainy season stretched on. Cicadas rose with the mounting summer heat. Clutching her scissors, Chisa began to imagine a path she could carve on her own: a path perhaps lonely, but true to her heart. The one she would never need to turn back from. |
| Blurred Features | Chisa | In her sixteenth summer, dark clouds stretched endlessly, and rain came pouring down. Thunder weighed against her eardrums as she stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Resonator Monitoring Center. "Did you hear me?" The voice was sharp with discontent. Chisa lifted her gaze, only to find the speaker's features dissolving into nothingness. "Loud and clear," she replied to the void. The collar clicked shut around her neck, bearing the cold touch of surveillance equipment. When the storm finally subsided, she set out for home. Cutting through the park, she came upon a boy crying beside a slide, clutching a snapped kite string. In her vision, the kite caught in the treetop stood out with uncanny clarity: three branches formed a natural lock, and if the far-right one was severed— "Hold there," she stopped the boy from tugging the string. His eyes widened. With a soft snap, the branch split, and the kite drifted down, alighting gently in his arms. "Thank y—" His cheer broke off at a shrill cry. "M-monster! Stay away from my child!" Following the woman's terrified gaze, Chisa then became conscious again of the collar biting cold against her throat. It wasn't a big deal. She told herself she should be used to this by now. She could see the kite's frame, the trajectories of raindrops, or even the currents of electrons surging through the storm clouds with such clarity, but she could never see through others' faces or their hearts. She turned and was about to step into the rain, but a small tug caught her sleeve. The boy had wriggled free from his mother's grasp. He pressed a packet of star-shaped candies into her palm. "Here. This is for you! My teacher says only the brave get star candy, so…" The plastic wrapper crackled faintly in her hand. Chisa stared at the boy. His face was still a blur, yet it glowed, like fireflies circling lanterns in a festival long ago. "Mom says people with these collars are bad," He leaned closer, whispering. "But I don't believe her. The way you cut that branch? It was so cool." Chisa paused, then crouched to pat his head. The device against her throat stayed still. Her Resonance Spectrum was showing a rare, steady curve. Like a summer sky after the storm, a hint of light finally broke through. |
| Nighmare of the Second Month | Chisa | "...!" Chisa jolted awake from the nightmare, cold sweat soaking her back. In a daze, her side still throbbed with a sharp, phantom pain that clawed at her nerves. But her flesh was unbroken, unlike in the dream. Drawing a deep breath, she pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the frantic pounding of her heart. It had been two months since she was trapped in Honami. Her body was slowly adjusting to the endless loop day after day, but each night the nightmares dragged her soul deeper into the abyss. She turned her head toward the sofa. Sumika lay fast asleep, one hand slipping from the cushion, the other resting beside an open notebook scrawled with numbers and scribbled notes. Outside, the rain fell in relentless torrents. By the time Sumika woke up, dusk had already descended. The storm had weakened. Faint stars dotted the ink-blue sky, like silver nails scattered carelessly across the cold night. Still yawning, she followed Chisa into a convenience store. While Chisa carefully gathered food and supplies from the shelves, she turned to find Sumika absorbed in the flickering sign overhead, notebook and pen already in hand. "Chisa, look at this—" she whispered, voice brimming with restrained excitement. "It's just the same as last time! The time, the flicker rate... Everything matches! If we can just gather a few more samples... these data will let us uncover the pattern behind the loop!" Catching the brightness in her eyes, Chisa unconsciously clenched her fists. In her palm lingered the sensation of yesterday's cut when she severed the Tacet Discords' threads, a cold shiver, like the snapping of silk. Whenever she drew her scissors and used her Forte, crimson lines surfaced in her vision—the threads of life, visible only to her. Unlike the warmth of human veins, these threads reeked of decay. They pursued the Left Behind, tearing them apart and dragging those fragile lives into yet another loop alongside the Lament. Chisa studied her reflection on the window: a face calm, almost pale, but with a single ember still burning in her eyes. Yesterday, here in this very store, she had crossed paths with the same girl again. The one she met every loop, who always shared her snacks so earnestly, never once realizing that she bore the iridescent glow of the Left Behind. Perhaps it was that fragile but unyielding kindness that kept Chisa from accepting that this city had been forever imprisoned in the past. The night stretched long, but dawn would always come. When the first light finally broke through the leaden clouds, she thought she could hear the trembling hum of threads. Pressing her hand to her chest, Chisa knew that when the next loop began, everything would reset once again. But that was fine. As long as the scissors remained in her grasp, as long as the fragments of warmth had not been completely forgotten... She would keep walking forward until the day she could finally cut through the nightmare and sever the snare. |
| Beyond the Summer's End | Chisa | In the afternoon, a drizzle pattered against the window. Chisa stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of the Spacetrek Archive. At eighteen, she finally had the leisure to listen to the rhythm of the rain—not the monotonous cadence of Honami's looping rains, but the natural raindrops of Lahai-Roi. Fresh, alive, tinged with a faint sweetness in the air. It was the kind of rain that would casually soak a school uniform left drying on a balcony, or drench an unsuspecting student on the way home. Steam curled gently from the coffee on her table. With her scissors, she unpacked a bag of sugar... Yes, she still carried them everywhere, though now they were used more for pruning potted plants or opening parcels. The sugar dissolved into the dark surface of the cup. Beyond the window, a few students in bright yellow raincoats splashed through puddles. Their vivid color pierced the gray veil of drizzle, stirring memories of days spent facing endless loops and relentless beginnings—of someone who once walked beside her to the destination of the endless loop, cutting a path through the long night; and of someone who chose to tread countless false paths alone, turning herself into a cornerstone of truth. When the rain eased, Chisa stepped out of the Archive with a book in her arms. The damp evening breeze lifted her freshly cut hair. The campus stretched before her, alive with the soft after-rain glow. A group of students from the Department of Engineering was engaged in a heated debate over a hovering device. Someone noticed her through the thinning mist, waved brightly, and called her to join— She watched these young, fervent souls, companions beneath the same sky, all bound for the same sea of stars. And she realized, with striking clarity, that she was no longer a wanderer lost in an endless loop. Her life, after a period of stagnation, had already rejoined the rushing river that carried everyone forward. She had truly left that endless summer behind. Taking a steady step, she walked toward her new future. |
 Truancy Record | Lynae | In Startorch Academy's administrative system, Lynae's truancy record reads more like a colorful fantasy travelogue than a disciplinary file. While her classmates sat in the lecture hall listening to Professor Mauclair's World Cultural History lecture, Lynae was several kilometers away, perched in a tree carefully reinforcing a nest of newly hatched Kronapuffs. While they drilled combat forms on the training grounds, she was in the Spacetrek Archive, helping a frantic Energy Sciences student recover crucial graduation data from a pile of corrupted files. The hands once trained to grip weapons and crack security systems now wielded spray cans with the same precise, startling gentleness. Lynae simply couldn't sit still. Her curiosity tugged her from one corner of the Academy to the next, and her reasons for skipping class were always inventive. "I was helping a senior stop her graduation project from escaping." "I was recalibrating the cafeteria droid's seasoning algorithms. I may have accidentally triggered a system-wide strike." "The Rimewisps in the sim pod were showing abnormal spectral fluctuations. Obviously, I had to document it!" At first, Ms. Voss found it exhausting. That began to change. It changed with the formal commendation from the Engineering Department, crediting Lynae with safeguarding all upcoming frostlands survey equipment during a Void Storm. It changed as the suggestion box began to overflow with thank-you notes addressed to an anonymous "volunteer." It changed when Professor Mauclair, in an Energy Sciences meeting, excitedly presented a set of clear, unprecedented spectral data from a "special observation point," noting: "Provided by an anonymous student. Recommend inclusion in the curriculum." Faced with Lynae's lengthy, bewildering, yet undeniably brilliant record, Voss could only sigh. This girl was never in class, yet her presence was felt in every corner of the Academy. It seemed as though she was protecting the place she now called "home," in her own, unconventional way. "…You still have to write the reflection report, you know." "…Yes, ma'am." Head lowered, Lynae shuffled out of the office. Still, her eyes twinkled at the familiar mix of exasperation and fondness in Ms. Voss's eyes. |
| Lurking Shadows | Lynae | The harbor at night loomed like a slumbering beast. She stood on the dock, her breath lost to the wind, her grip on the gun absolute. Its dark muzzle held the same cold stillness in her eyes, locked unblinkingly on the figure before her. Even with the barrel pressed to his forehead, the "target" remained calm. A faint, taunting smile touched his lips as he met her stare. "We both know this is just a game. And you? You're just a pawn in a much bigger lie." "Look at you… so professional. But for what? Some fake promise? Put the gun down. Walk away. You could be anyone… anywhere." "How long do you think you can keep hiding?" —How long do you think you can keep hiding? Her heart hammered. A bead of cold sweat rolled down her temple. That numb fear she thought she had long buried seized her once again. "...Shut up." Her own voice sounded foreign, hoarse, cracking like a stifled roar. Her finger trembled on the trigger. "Bang—!" The shot never left her gun, but a gunshot rang out. Lights blazed on. She flinched. The last bead of sweat fell, landing with a soft tap on the prop gun in her hands. Then applause surged like a tidal wave. "Cut! Yes, yes! That's it! Perfect!" "...Lynae! That was incredible!" "Arthus, your sound cue was early again!" Blinking, Lynae looked around as if waking from a dream. The monochrome set began to fade. Color seemed to bleed back into the world, starting from her own palms. Her "target" approached excitedly, his expression no longer threatening but bright with admiration. "You were amazing! Just like a real secret agent!" "..." —Of course, she was in the Drama Fan Club, standing in for a senior who had been injured during a field expedition. The play was adapted from a classic New Federation spy film. Yet for a moment, she had truly felt as if she were… "Lynae…? Are you okay?" "…I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile and adding a theatrical wave. "Got a little too into it, hahaha. Blame Annan's script. It's just way too good!" Laughter and chatter filled the rehearsal room again as members set out to prepare the next scene's set and props. Lynae sat in the corner as the club leader passed her a bottle of soda. "Lynae, are you sure you don't want to join? Your acting is incredible!" the leader exclaimed, clenching his fists in excitement, "I've already got the perfect role for you at the next time at the Celebration—" "Sorry, I think I'll pass…" "Oh… no worries. I know you haven't joined any clubs yet, figured I'd ask. But if you ever want to, you're always welcome! You there, Germain! You can't place that prop like that!" As the leader sprinted off to rescue the prop, Lynae's fingers tightened around the soda bottle. —How long do you think you can keep hiding? The words echoed again, prickling under her skin. —How long do you think you can really stay here? She didn't know. She didn't want to think about it. So all she could do was live in the present and enjoy what was right in front of her. |
| Shifted Winds | Lynae | At first, she dismissed them as phishing emails. They would arrive without warning. Early in the morning, between classes, late at night, or even in the middle of laughing with friends. Lines of red, indecipherable code would suddenly flash across her Terminal. Seeing it was like having her chest pierced by a sharp needle. It threads itself through her heart, her veins, even her bloodstream itself. It took time to decode them. But when she finally restored the original message, a chill seized her from head to toe. The Fractsidus. Perhaps she had known from the moment she picked up that acceptance letter, but had still clung to a sliver of hope. She chose not to think too much, allowing herself to sink blissfully into a campus life far more beautiful than anything she had ever dared imagine. —Until that "mission" arrived. "Infiltrate the Institute's system. Retrieve and alter the parameters of the Hyvatia Detector." She knew the significance of the New Solar Ceremony to both the Spacetrek Collective and Lahai-Roi, and she knew how critical the Hyvatia Detector was to that event. A massive conspiracy was winding its way through the shadows of Lahai-Roi. In that moment, Lynae understood with chilling clarity: what she chose to do could very well plunge Lahai-Roi into danger. She didn't believe that a runaway mercenary like her could truly threaten an organization as big as the Fractsidus. Still, the thought circled her mind relentlessly, refusing to loosen its grip. Startorch Academy, the "utopia" beneath the frostlands, had already become her home. How much longer could she turn a blind eye and play at this "school life" with a clear conscience? Realizing she couldn't hide forever, she made up her mind. It was time for an end. Step one: sever her role as their "inside person." Her finger trembled slightly as she hit send. It was the first message she had ever written as the Fractsidus's insider: "Target data extracted. Hand-off in person." The attached coordinates pointed to the outskirts of the Voidworm habitat. After the gunshot sounded, the Void Storm would clean up any remaining evidence for her. Message sent, she leaned against her motorbike and looked up at Lahai-Roi's sky. The winds had already shifted. And this time, there would be no turning back. |
| Black and Gold | Lynae | It was meant to be another mission. Gray, black, pale as plaster. Just another task to eliminate several individuals the New Federation had flagged as "potential threats." Why people who had done nothing threatening still needed to disappear was never a question she was allowed to ask. She watched the target flee in panic through the dark alley. She was not the only hunter in the dark. Thin red targeting lines wove through the air, converging, locking, before delivering a silent, absolute end. A harsh, static-laced gasp rasped in her earpiece. "Don't worry… I'll arrive in Lahai-Roi at the appointed time… Startorch Academy…" "I will complete… the Grand Architect's… mission…" Futile resistance. By the time Lynae approached her, the last trace of life was already gone. It should have been an ordinary mission. But this time, something was different. A streak of gold on a fallen acceptance letter caught her eye, like a blot of paint on chalk-white plaster, a sliver of light through a crack. She couldn't look away. "Lynae"—the name embossed on the sheet felt like fate telling a joke, half lie, half truth. She bent down, brushing away dust and bloodstains. Her dark hair caught the reflected gold, igniting something in her chest that years of numb mercenary work had never been able to extinguish: a longing for freedom. "Are you Lynae from the New Federation?" Faced with the teacher's question, she felt a flicker of guilt. She curled a strand of her freshly dyed hair—once dark brown, now a soft pale gold, though she had kept a few strands of her original color—and nodded, summoning her brightest smile. "Yes." "No need to be nervous. We know how the New Federation treats Resonators… but here in Lahai-Roi, you're completely free. Every opportunity and every piece of knowledge is open to everyone." She stayed quiet as the teacher flipped through the student file she had casually filled. She had assumed many disguises for missions, yet none had ever made her feel this tense. "Hm? The 'Hobbies and Interests' section is blank…" Not good. She should have written something... Graffiti, maybe? She did enjoy leaving a few flourishes of paint after a mission, a habit picked up from a movie, but a mercenary couldn't leave traces, so she always wiped them clean. Motorcycles, then? Nothing but the wind roaring in her ears as she sped down an open road, leaving a trail of pure, vivid color. Did those even count as "hobbies"? "It's alright." Seeing her drift into thought, the long-haired woman with the hat closed the file. She smiled and placed a brand-new student ID card into her palm. "You can take your time discovering them here." |
| Where the Story Begins | Lynae | Life after re-enrolling didn't feel all that different from before. The first morning class still made her nod off despite her best efforts, though she had long mastered the art of feigning studious note-taking just before the teacher's sharp gaze found her. She had already taken this exact class before, written these same notes… So really, her drowsiness was perfectly justified. Her breaks were still packed: helping Engineering seniors test new engines, crafting flashy "transition effects" for the Drama Fan Club's stage, and yes, still writing the occasional reflection report… What was different, however, was getting to drag along the person who used to be her "junior" to stand in the cafeteria queue with her, and try out some "new flavors" together. Since enrollment, {Male=he;Female=she} had been even busier. This was one of their rare moments together. Now the two of them sat shoulder to shoulder on a bench in Stargram Plaza, sharing a can of the new "Canned Surprise" flavor Lynae had insisted on buying. In the past, silence would make her anxious. She would rush to fill it with tasks or chatter. Now, it felt warm. Comfortable. Lynae turned to look at that ever-composed profile beside her, only to see those golden eyes widen slightly after a particularly… surprising taste. She burst out laughing. It reminded her of the first time they met—{Male=he;Female=she} had worn almost the exact same expression. Back then, Lynae had no idea whether {PlayerName}, who had literally fallen straight from the sky, had witnessed the exact moment she carried out her plan. She had watched {Male=him;Female=her} get back up from the ground, her finger instinctively tightening on the trigger. But the cold ruthlessness in her eyes vanished the instant she saw a fallen acceptance letter drift down between them. In that moment, she realized— —She was no longer the "mercenary" moving through shadows. She was just a student now. Someone who wanted nothing more than to live a free life. She stashed the weapon at once, breaking out in a cold sweat. Had she just crashed into a new student? That would look even worse on her record than her abysmal attendance! If {Male=he;Female=she} refused to forgive her, she was done for! So she reached out immediately, hauling {PlayerName} upright and dragging {Male=him;Female=her} onto the back seat of her motorbike. And in the same moment, a Voidworm writhed across the ground, primed to unleash its malign intent on them both. She didn't know it then, but the story that truly belonged to Lynae had already begun at that very moment. |
 "Brother" | Luuk Herssen | The cold light glared deep into the night. Luuk sat beneath it and held out his hand without protest. The man known as his "father" gripped his palm, still unmistakably a child's, and watched as golden blood, "Ichor," oozed from the wound like molten gold. Luuk knew the man wasn't looking at him, but through him, at another child. The real son who had died of a rare disease. Luuk was only a container to carry that obsession, a chance to fill the vacancy. But the change his father longed for never came. The Ichor flowed on in silence, and the feverish light in his father's eyes slowly dimmed into disappointment. "...Why won't it change? You're one of the few who can tolerate the Ichor," his father murmured. The words shook the child's eardrums like thunder. "It's the most promising cure we have for rare diseases... Even after everything we've invested in this... Why is there never any change?" That was when Rhein joined the "family." Luuk watched his father speak, excitement making his voice unsteady, about how this child was just like him: afflicted by a rare disease, but able to endure the Ichor treatment. "He's your brother now." Luuk looked at this "brother," unrelated by blood. The boy was smaller than himself, his skin pallid from chronic illness, clearly too young to understand the world, let alone what this research into "Golden Blood" meant, and the hopes he now carried on his frail shoulders. Like any child his age, he was simply overjoyed by the candy his new "father" placed in his hand. A child who loved sweets. Luuk Herssen gazed at the soft curls on the boy's head and felt the urge to stroke them. He reached out, then stopped, remembering the wound on his palm that refused to heal. Just as his father expected, Rhein grew attached to Luuk almost immediately. Before he had learned many words, he was already chasing after him, calling out "brother" again and again. What his father did not expect was how quickly Rhein would reject the Ichor. Faster than Luuk ever had. The treatment ceased to work, and soon his body wasted away until he was barely able to leave his bed. Then came Rhein's birthday. Luuk carried him on his back, keeping to the shadows along the walls as they slipped through the long corridors and out of the house. He ran and ran, until fresh, earthy air filled his lungs, until a starry sky, dazzling almost to excess, pushed aside the cold ceiling lights of the treatment room. They stopped at a forgotten garden at the edge of the estate. It was littered with broken pots and dead leaves, hardly a beautiful sight. But the soil was soft, the air alive, and for Rhein, who had been confined to sickrooms for far too long, his eyes lit up all the same. "Happy birthday, Rhein." Breathing hard, Luuk pulled something from inside his coat: a small, clumsily wrapped... thing. It was lopsided, its surface mottled with burnt brown and white cream. Piped on top was the shape of a little bear, the logo of Rhein's favorite brand of candy. "I... I've never made one before. It might taste bad." Luuk said, voice tinged with embarrassment. To cover it up, he lit the candle in haste. The frail flame flickered in the night wind, reflecting in Rhein's wide, shining eyes. "Make a wish, then blow it out," Luuk said, trying to sound cheerful. An older brother needed to be reassuring. "That way, your wish will come true." Rhein nodded hard, clasped his hands, puffed his cheeks, and blew. Whoosh. The flame went out. The cold closed in again, tearing Luuk out of the long dream and back to the present. The room still echoed with the faint crackle of burning logs. He opened his eyes, his gaze settling on the fireplace, now nothing but ash, only then registering the chill coiled around him. ...So many years had passed. He let out a breath and pressed the memories back into the far reaches of sleep. |
| Undercurrent | Luuk Herssen | Luuk realized something was wrong years after his father's death. Though he bore the title of heir to Novialle Regenerative Group, the board's seasoned veterans saw him for what he appeared to be then: an underage figurehead. Naturally, they dismissed him as no threat. But... Page by page, Luuk sifted through seemingly unrelated financial discrepancies, lab procedures just shy of scrutiny, and itineraries of his father's final months that had been erased. Like puzzle pieces, they slowly assembled into a fractured, chilling image, one called the "truth." His gaze hardened. In fact, it was no different from surgery. Cut open a surface that looked intact. Inch a sharp blade deeper. Carve out the rot where it festered against the bone. He had done it before, and he was good at it. To the public, all they saw was a new executive far too young for the role. He carried himself with composure and steered the conglomerate with an iron will. The initial whispers of doubt soon fell silent in the face of results. Drug development accelerated, while labs once dedicated to researching "Golden Blood" were shuttered, one after another. At night, alone, Luuk peeled off his gloves and watched the Ichor bleed from his palm. The golden blood spilled across his skin, coalescing into the hardened shape of a blade. Then, with a turn of his wrist, it dissolved back into a docile fluid. After all these years, the "change" his father had obsessed over had finally appeared. And it answered to Luuk. "But I'm done sacrificing people for you," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the golden gleam. "I'm going to... use you." "Infiltrate the Fractsidus?" The voice from the Terminal clearly wavered. "Yes." Luuk stood at the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping at his coat. "Too many threads lead back to them. I suspect they're connected to my father's death." "...Have you thought this through? Once you go in, there's no turning back." Luuk looked down at the lights scattered below. How many lives, sustained only by medication, flickering weakly like candles in the wind, waiting through an endless night for illusion to burn away and dawn to finally arrive? "There's no turning back," he said as he leapt into the night, voice fading into the wind, "That's why it's worth doing." |
| Dark Clouds | Luuk Herssen | The air in this Fractsidus outpost was always thick with dust, mildew, and a metallic tang. Luuk Herssen walked down the dim corridor wearing thin, silver-rimmed glasses, an old medical case swinging at his side. His steps were light, deliberate, perfectly in character: a quiet, unassuming young doctor, skilled enough to be useful, timid enough to be ignored. The door closed behind him. What greeted him next was the heavy stench of blood and the acrid bite of disinfectant. Several injured members of the Fractsidus were slumped against the walls or lying on cots. As he approached, someone clicked their tongue impatiently. "Took you long enough." Luuk hunched his shoulders, kept his head down, and quickened his pace until he seemed to shrink into his medical coat. The medical case opened with a soft snap. He carefully took out the forceps and antiseptic swabs and began to clean a gash on one member's arm. In the corner, a few of the less injured members spoke in hushed tones. "Shhh!" Someone cut in sharply, eyes darting warily toward Luuk as he worked. The speaker froze for a moment, then scoffed. "What's to worry about? Him?" He raised his voice deliberately. "Last time he treated my shoulder, he was so nervous he was practically panting. Look at him, timid as a mouse. He'll never amount to anything." Right on cue, Luuk pushed his glasses back up his nose. His gaze remained lowered, focused entirely on the bandage in his hands as if he had heard nothing. "Still, better safe than sorry," someone muttered. "All outposts are on high alert. Word is, a rat's slipped in..." Their voices faded into indistinct murmurs. Luuk maintained his unthreatening posture, but his hands never lost their precision. Disinfecting, medicating, bandaging, each step executed without flaw. Only occasionally did he let a hint of nervousness slip: the faint clink of forceps, a bottle cap fumbled once or twice. When the final bandage was tied, the injured men rose and began to leave. The loud one from earlier clapped him on the shoulder in passing. "Thanks, Doc." "...Just doing my job." His throat bobbed as he replied softly. Footsteps faded. The door closed. The treatment room fell quiet again, the smell of disinfectant hanging faintly in the air. Luuk Herssen slowly straightened. The air of timidity evaporated. He removed his glasses, wiping the lenses as he walked toward a pile of medical supplies in the corner. Freed of the disguise, his eyes, red as pigeon blood, lifted toward the top of a cabinet. He reached into the clutter and retrieved a listening device no larger than a button. The net was beginning to close. After confirming the transmission, Luuk moved to the window and parted the heavy curtain slightly. Outside lay the Fractsidus's grim compound, the last ray of twilight dissolving into night. He put his glasses back on. One by one, distant lights flickered on, reflected in the lenses like the eyes of beasts in the dark. He stood at the border between light and shadow, letting his eyes curve with a faint satisfaction behind the lenses. The show had only just begun. |
| Storm | Luuk Herssen | Winter was ending, but the cold refused to leave. When Luuk finally pulled himself away from the mountain of corporate matters and covert investigations, he pushed open the door to the special care ward, barely recognizing the emaciated figure on the bed. Rhein lay against the pillows. The curls that had once been soft and voluminous now hung yellowed and brittle against his forehead. At the sound of the door, his eyes shifted slightly. No sound followed. Luuk suddenly recalled his father's words: "You should feel lucky. The Ichor chose you." Despite the color blindness and the intermittent bouts of searing pain, Luuk remained the only person truly healed by the Ichor. Without exception, the others had all followed the same grim trajectory as Rhein. Luuk took the chair by the bed. The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of monitors. He tried to break the suffocating quiet. "I studied psychology for a while," he said. "I thought... it might help me understand things better. Help people better." After a pause, he added, "I've also gotten much better at cooking. I don't burn cakes anymore. Is there anything you want to eat? I can make it." Silence. Luuk didn't give up. He changed the topic. "I've... met someone recently. A friend. Clever, reliable. {Male=He's;Female=She's} challenged a lot of my old, stubborn ideas. I think maybe I should try to change..." "Do you really need to?" Rhein's voice cut in, hoarse and brittle as an ice pick. "Aren't you the one who's always been exceptional? Not like the rest of us ordinary people." Luuk's breath caught. The calm he had been holding together collapsed. He looked into Rhein's eyes, once bright and lively, now dulled to near emptiness. And beneath that still surface churned something unmistakable—hatred. ... "He refuses to speak to me again," Luuk said quietly. The response from the Terminal was, as always, calm. "What he hates isn't you. It's everything the name 'Herssen' stands for. You're just the only safe target for that hatred." Luuk was silent for a moment. "...Thank you." "Have you found anything?" "The dots are starting to connect," Luuk replied, looking out the window. Dark clouds coiled and thickened, promising a storm. "Tonight... I'll confirm the truth." That night, rain fell as if trying to hammer the entire world into the earth. Luuk walked alone into a deserted cemetery. White lightning tore open the sky, illuminating the gravestone ahead. It was his father's. And then he saw it. Through the curtain of rain, a figure stood silently before the grave, umbrella in hand, as if they had been waiting. Raindrops exploded against the fabric, flowing down its edges like a waterfall. Yet through the blur of gray and black, Luuk could see the eyes looking back at him with perfect clarity. ...Gold. Like molten Ichor. Like the first ray of sunlight upon the frostlands. The only vivid color in an ashen world. "If you've truly uncovered something," {Male=he;Female=she} said, stepping through the pooled water toward him, "then you'll need a witness." |
| After the Thaw | Luuk Herssen | Afternoon light filtered through the window glass, casting bands of light and shadow across the floor. Students fresh from training crowded around the treatment bed, watching as Luuk Herssen wrapped the ankle of their particularly unlucky friend. "Dr. Luuk, how are you bandaging like that?" the injured student grinned through clenched teeth. "Can you teach me how to do that?!" Luuk finished with a clean knot and tapped his shoulder. "Sure. We'll bundle the lesson with your medical bill." At the boy's frozen expression, Luuk curved his lips. "I'm joking. But remember to warm up next time. I'd hate to see you competing from a wheelchair." Laughter rippled through the room. "Dr. Herssen, we're heading to the Royan Market later! Coming with us?" Luuk glanced at the clock and shook his head with sincere regret. "Not today. I've got other appointments coming up." He leaned in and lowered his voice. "And I heard the cafeteria cakes are half price today. If you're late, there'll be nothing left." The students smacked their foreheads and filed out in a burst of noise. The infirmary door shut behind them, cutting off the chatter. In the sudden quiet, the scent of disinfectant stood out somehow. Luuk turned to the window, recalling the last time he'd seen sunshine like this. That was also the last time he saw Rhein. Or rather, it was hard to say whether the "creature" whose skin was veined with gold could still be called Rhein. The treatment plan that had consumed the conglomerate's lifetime of effort had failed to cure any rare disease patients except Luuk Herssen. In his final moments, Rhein didn't even die from his illness. The Ichor, once believed to be his salvation, had completely consumed him. Driven mad, he had injured several people and fled the ward, teetering on the edge of a total, violent breakdown. Luuk felt the Ichor in his palm grow searing hot, eager to become a blade. But… Was there truly no other way? Luuk stared into eyes that had once sparkled over a piece of candy and found no trace of the boy left. The Ichor burned, urging him on, but he hesitated, thinking of a way to stop Rhein without killing him. A blizzard of snow and mindless roars crashed over him, whiting out his vision. "There's another way." He clenched his fist. "Because I am like him. Because we... carry the same blood." In that final instant, Luuk reversed the state of the Ichor in his palm. Using his own body as the anchor, he drove Rhein beneath the frozen earth. The solidifying gold bound them both. Frost spread from his feet as burning pain surged from his palm. Within him, the two forces met in a violent, silent standstill. As his consciousness began to fade, he sensed someone rushing to his side. A soft voice asked if he could still see. He nodded. In a bleached world, he saw the sun rising over the distant frostlands, and much closer, eyes even brighter than that dawn. "We'll make a promise." {Male=he;Female=she} had said. No matter how many winters it took, they'd see each other again. He'd open his eyes, and {Male=he'd;Female=she'd} be standing right here, just like today. He thought, that must be… Click. Luuk turned. A flood of sunlight spilled into the room, outlining the figure in the doorway. A familiar warmth seeped into his monochrome world, shattering the grey expanse within him into a shower of golden light. ...That must be when the sun rises once more. Luuk smiled and walked toward the light. Outside the window, a new leaf, loosened by a soft spring breeze, drifted down and came to rest on the sill. The long winter had finally passed. |
 Silhouettes Of the Past | Lucy | Lucy keeps most of her past to herself for a reason. Few know that this mysterious netrunner was, in fact, shown the ropes by a top-secret Arasaka educational program for kids. One might say that's not the worst hand to be dealt; that a roof over your head and a full belly is more than many can hope for in Night City. But for Lucy, there was never any other path. She was brought up in this megacorp's black site—locked away and forced to train. Day after day, year after year, breaching the Blackwall, diving into the scattered depths of the Old Net. And trying to survive the rogue AIs that lurked there. As a child, Lucy's worldview was built upon Arasaka's core pillar: obedience—often mistaken for loyalty. And she was not the only one taught to believe in it. A group of children took part in the program, either taken from their parents or scooped from the street. To serve the most powerful corporation on the planet—that was the dream Arasaka planted in their heads. Within that facility, they were forced to deep-dive the Old Net, running suicide gigs on repeat. None of them knew the perfect future they'd been promised was just a chimera. An elaborate fantasy spun by Arasaka handlers to serve the company's own ends. By the time Lucy figured out the truth, it was already too late. The will to survive drove them to claw their way out of the prison they had long mistaken for home. They ran as fast as they could, bullets tearing through the air all around them. Gunfire and screams exploded in Lucy's ears, one after another. But she would survive. She squeezed her eyes shut, blocked everything out, and just kept running. The exit. She just had to reach the exit. She woke up in some scrapyard with no memory of how she got there, and no idea if anyone else had made it out alive. She'd escaped the chase, for now, but the fear Arasaka had carved into her wasn't going anywhere. She knew they'd be hunting her. Could feel it under her skin. After that, she never stayed in one place for too long. Always moving. Always hiding. |
| Dreams & the City of Dreams | Lucy | It started with a poster: a man in a spacesuit, pointing the way to a better future. For Lucy, it was a promise of escape. And maybe, just maybe, finding a place so far away from danger that she could stay put. On countless nights, curled up with her arms wrapped around her knees, that dream took root. Planted by fear. Loneliness. A need for a place to call home. "Maybe on the Moon, I'll finally be free?" Cynics laughed at the idea, certain there was no corner safe from corporate dominance. To go there would be pointless; a propaganda-fuelled pipe dream. But these were the opinions of people who had never been to the Moon. So what did they know? Lucy would go there. See for herself. Someday. Night City seemed like a good place to hide for a while. A concrete jungle. When she first arrived, she feared Arasaka's reach was too prominent, but soon she learned to haunt the corners of the city where corporations turned a blind eye. She realized that crime and violence were the true governors here. And with her skill set and caution, she was natural merc material. An edgerunner already long in the making. Her new home wasn't completely safe for her, but for the first time in years, she felt like she could survive. Erasing every trace of her past became her new identity. To stay alive without blowing her cover, the former netrunner prodigy lived by a simple code: Stay low. Ask nothing. Tell less. Avoid Arasaka. That was her disguise. A small principle, but it was hers. Life only truly changed when Kiwi came looking for a preem netrunner to fill a slot in Maine's crew. She brought Lucy into the fold and gave her the most useful advice she'd ever get: "Remember. Never trust a soul in Night City." |
| When the Sandevistan Hits | Lucy | One night, Lucy took David to her place and invited him to experience a braindance of the Moon. Since she couldn't afford to travel there yet, this was the closest she could get to the real deal. Feeling the sun on her face. Jumping and floating like a feather. Serenity. Without corpos, without gangers. It was the most precious part of herself she could share. She couldn't deny that David piqued her interest. An Arasaka Academy dropout with the reckless ambition to become an edgerunner. Wielding extremely demanding—extremely dangerous—military-grade cyberware as if it were a toy. But he was a good kid, sincere, pure at heart. Someone she felt she could possibly trust. But Lucy had spent so long keeping the world at arm's length that she didn't know how to reach out. After David joined Maine's crew, Lucy grumbled about being saddled with babysitting duty. But despite her protests, she took him under her wing. Became his first teacher on the streets of Night City. She showed him the ropes of a merc's day-to-day, assuming he wouldn't be cut out for the life. But as she watched the boy come into his own, the knot in her chest finally started to loosen. Her certainty about him came the day he saved her life. A routine night turned into a bloodbath. When Pilar fell, the crew shattered into a blur of instinct and rage. Hot-headed members like Rebecca threw themselves at the killer, while Lucy took cover to strike with caution. In the chaos, David froze. Unable to move, to fight, or even save himself. But through the mayhem, he was the only one to notice Lucy being cornered. That was all the motivation he needed. In an instant, he lunged into the fray, guns blazing. To save her. Bang. Smoke. Silence. A turning point for both of them. After that, Lucy led him to the rooftop—the place where she'd always gone to look at the Moon. For the first time, she didn't go alone. She brought a boy who had nothing, who promised her everything. He told her he'd take her there. To the Moon. Someday, somehow. A promise that burned brighter and felt more real than any neon in the city below. So how could she not love him? |
| My Moon My Man | Lucy | Some say that tragedy is the only truth in Night City. That happiness is just fleeting smoke. Maine and Dorio fell on a job gone sideways. David picked up the weight. Took over the crew. Maine's legacy. The life of an edgerunner. Rebecca switched to stronger cyber-arms and swore she'd never lose anyone else. Everyone moved forward. Everyone, except Lucy. She stepped back. Pulled away from the crew and secretly worked to protect David from the shadows, making sure Arasaka couldn't trace him. She told no one. Especially not him. She knew David would try to stop her, or worse, follow her into the fire. That was his nature. He was obsessed with protecting her. But for once, Lucy was determined to be the one holding the shield. She was careful, but as it turned out, not careful enough. She'd underestimated Arasaka. Their fixer, Faraday, saw the opening. Found the crack in the armor. And in it, he discovered a way to exploit the love between two edgerunners to secure his ticket up the corpo ladder. Having snatched Lucy, Faraday forced David into a desperate rescue mission as the boy teetered on the edge of cyberpsychosis. David didn't give up, not even with MaxTac hot on his heels. Rebecca and Falco—the remains of a loyal crew—threw themselves into the line of fire just to keep him moving. The cyberskeleton did its job. David got Lucy out... only to fall into a trap set by Arasaka. A trap with Adam Smasher waiting inside. David held Lucy close and jumped towards the Moon, which hung cold and white above the chaos. In that moment, her kiss pulled him back from the edge. Just long enough. Just enough for a final goodbye. |
| So, Get Away | Lucy | Rebecca and David were gone. Only Lucy and Falco survived that day. The two of them split ways after leaving Night City, and when the dust settled, it was time to move on again. There was only one place she considered her destination. A too-obvious choice. A promise, never fulfilled. Did she go there to honor it, to make a dream come true, or to hide away for good? Lucy found herself on the Moon with no answers. The real experience was different than the one from the braindance, and yet, the place had felt somehow familiar. For a moment, she could've sworn she saw David out of the corner of her eye. That was when the grief finally broke through. The Moon was still the same, but the boy who'd been beside her in the braindance wasn't there anymore. Yet, maybe the story wasn't over. "There… is a method. To let you stay." On the day she left the Somnoire, Lucy stopped at the threshold of the gateway and turned to Rover. Took one last look at the silent Moon beyond. "That's not what they would've wanted, is it?" |
 Prisoner's Dilemma | Taoqi | "Did you hear? That new Director at the Ministry of Development's Defense Division doesn't let anything get past her!" This rumor spread quickly through Jinzhou, soon becoming the city's hot topic. The Ministry of Development ordered a batch of materials intended for the construction of a new defense line, but one container was filled with unlabeled, subpar goods. To complicate the matter even more, the batch had three different manufacturers, none willing to take responsibility for the defect. "Director Taoqi, you have to help us sort this out. The Ministry of Development can't just accuse innocent people!" The three representatives said, their voices growing louder in an attempt to attract more attention. Taoqi calmly navigated through the commotion while softly putting off the noisy representatives. "Alright, alright, I understand," even though she wasn't really paying attention to their complaints. She then crouched down to inspect the unlabeled container. After examining a few pieces of materials for a while, Taoqi seemed to have an idea. In a casual tone, she turned to the three representatives and said, "But it seems one of you is lying. Or perhaps, all three of you are." After that, Taoqi and her junior, Xiaoyu, discreetly visited three manufacturing factories. They gathered clues about the machinery, transportation routes used that evening, and delivery schedules. With this information, Taoqi was able to solve the puzzle and ensure those who had been deceitful would face consequences. Within days, rumors spread throughout the city. One of the three representatives was interrogated by Director Taoqi of the Ministry of Development. Then, news surfaced about another representative being caught, followed by the final one. Eventually, Jinzhou News broke a story revealing their collusion in supplying substandard materials. The public was left stunned, while only Taoqi and Xiaoyu knew the truth. "I know! It-it's the typical prisoner's dilemma! You brought one of them in for a 'private talk' first, then you made sure the other two knew what happened. All of this was meant to put pressure on them so they'd betray and tell on each other, right? But how did you know they were all lying?" "People can lie, but machines can't. Each factory has its unique machine specifications. The answer was already clear when I examined those materials. Oh well... it did cost me several lunch breaks." Taoqi complained as she pulled her sleep mask down, determined to make up for those lost breaks. |
| Taoqi's Tempo | Taoqi | "Ugh... another workday." With a reluctant sigh, Taoqi struggled to crawl out of her cozy cocoon of blankets, setting her eyes on the slowly rising sun over Jinzhou. For her, it marked the beginning of another ordinary day. The streets were bustling with breakfast stalls and the working crowd was already queuing up. Some left money and snatched a bag of buns in a hurry to get to work. No need for stall owners to raise their voices, everyone was eager for a quick bite before heading off. Jinzhou, after a good night's rest, sprang to life again. Amidst the bustling crowd, Taoqi emerged at a leisurely pace. Her sleep mask was still worn on her forehead, and she was yawning from time to time, looking as if she hadn't fully woken up yet. "Hmm... which line should I join?" Rubbing her eyes, Taoqi sized up each stall and silently counted, "Three, two, one..." Upon completing her counting, the person at the front of the queue left with a bag of freshly baked buns in hand. Taoqi seemed to be counting the time needed to steam buns at each stall. After checking the time and the number of people in the queues, she made her decision. "Hmm... Great. Bet I won't be late today." Taoqi gently tapped one hand against the other on a tempo to track the time. As the queue inched forward, she noticed that her tempo of "three, two, one" was slightly ahead of the queue's progress. "Oh? Looks like I might not make it on time, after all." Taoqi was determined to clock in on time, but her counting didn't match the queue's progress. She checked her tapping speed and confirmed it was accurate. Was the stall owner slowing down? She cautiously observed them, their hands moving in a blur. Confused, she couldn't figure out the reason for the inconsistency. Time was ticking, and she really needed to get to work on time. "I see. This must be the issue?" After a while, her attention was drawn to a child's pinwheel and then back to the stove, where a large hole allowed the wind to spread the fire. But the vendor didn't seem to notice. Taoqi left the queue, grabbed a box, and shielded the fire from the wind. "Excuse me, young lady, what are you doing?" "Just trying not to be late!" Taoqi explained with a satisfied grin as she returned to her original place in the queue. However, it seemed she would have to queue up again. "Oh my, I'm definitely going to be late now." |
| Taoqi's Time | Taoqi | Despite Taoqi's lazy appearance, as if she could nod off anytime, Taoqi is consistently flawless in all she does. "Do you think Ms. Taoqi has fallen asleep again?" New recruits at the Ministry of Development frequently share these doubts. In such situations, colleagues who are familiar with Taoqi always assure them that she is indeed a very dependable leader. "Ms. Taoqi, I'm sorry to bother you, but I've been trying to optimize this construction plan for quite a while, yet I'm still stumped..." In her spare time, Taoqi often finds herself caught by young colleagues seeking her advice. "Hmm... it's getting late. Let's call it a day for now. Let's go for a walk. I heard there's a new restaurant with great food. Want to check it out?" "Uh, p-pardon please?" Her Juniors often struggle to keep up with her abrupt topic changes. Taoqi rarely tells anyone what to do. She believes in letting people work it out themselves. She brought her bewildered junior to a busy street market, the same one she helped improve for easier community access and better city planning. Taoqi urged him to observe everything on their stroll: the sights, sounds, and tastes of the street. She explained that by paying attention to the locals and their conversations, they could uncover hidden issues that really needs addressing. The junior thanked Taoqi with a grateful smile, having realized her intention. Taoqi smiled warmly in return. Taoqi is everyone's "reliable big sister", both in work and in everyday life. "Ms. Taoqi, please..." A certain storage space, once Taoqi's private nap haven, has been transformed into a comfortable "chat room" with a cozy sofa, perfect table, and delicious tea. Her junior colleagues now often come for her consultation during their free time. Taoqi lounged lazily on the sofa, listening patiently to her juniors as they opened up about their worries. "You know what? The housing prices here have risen again!" "Indeed it has." "Gotta work harder to repay the mortgage, but the thought of this stresses me out so much. I feel deflated..." "Same here..." "Sigh... Time flies by so fast. It's about time to go back to work..." Perhaps this chatroom's popularity simply stems from it being a place for young people to spill their troubles and find solace in each other. As for Taoqi, she only needs to be a patient listener, understanding their worries and offering advice when appropriate to gently lighten their burdens. |
| Reunion with Friends | Taoqi | Taoqi endured unfounded ill will for her slowness as a child. But luckily, she met some friends who accepted and defended her. Growing up, they were inseparable. But as adults, their paths diverged. The eldest joined the Midnight Rangers and is now stationed on the frontlines; the second became a teacher in a remote town, nurturing the next generation; the youngest became a travel writer who is constantly on the go. Despite their different careers, they always come back to their hometown. Taoqi, the second youngest of the group who stayed in Jinzhou, is their go-to for meetups and farewells. As they wait for her one more time, someone brings up her name and catches the attention of other diners. It seems she's quite well-known here. "Oh really? Are you talking about Ms. Taoqi?" "I thought Ms. Taoqi had always been a laid-back person?" "Yeah, it's true. But she's changed a lot since she was little! Remember how she used to follow us around everywhere? Now, she seems so chill all the time. It's crazy. She used to get lost and cry about being left behind." "She was even bullied..." "Really? I can't believe Ms. Taoqi went through that..." "Haha, bet you can't. And that's when we, her dear friends, stepped in. We kicked some serious butt for her!" "Wow... what did Ms. Taoqi do, then?" "Erm... She provided backup? Like, telling their parents, negotiating compensation and stuff." "She had a sharp eye for gathering useful information... like she could quickly identify the weaknesses of the people we were up against." "Oh well... She was like a little sister to me. I always tried to protect her, but one day I learned she had been quietly protecting us all along with her wisdom and sharp eye. It hit me right in the feels." "She's grown a lot. Though she still does everything slowly, she seems more confident now." "Wow, that's so Ms. Taoqi! I knew she was always trustworthy!" "Huh? Weren't we trying to tell you a different side of her?" The old friends all burst out in laughter. "Whew, good afternoon, everyone. What were you all talking about? Having a good chat, I see." "We've been waiting for you. Overslept your nap again, huh? You'll have to treat us for being late to this precious reunion!" "We were talking about you..." Taoqi sat down, groggily rubbing her eyes,"Is that something fun? Tell me all about it." |
| Work-life Balance | Taoqi | Work is work and life is life; maintaining a clear boundary between the two is essential for everything to function. Taoqi has always lived by this principle, and nothing in Jinzhou can stop her from leaving work on time. The Ministry of Development is a busy place, with people constantly coming and going, rushing through their tasks. In the midst of chaos, Taoqi's soft voice can always calm the storm. Amidst flipping papers, it brings peace and slows the pace. "It's quitting time. Time to head home." "Please wait a moment, Ms. Taoqi. We have a newly issued document that requires your attention." "Well, let me take a look... Doesn't seem urgent. I'll deal with it tomorrow." After work, Taoqi has her unique way of "relaxation". For her, "relaxation" can come in various forms — from a good sleep to a casual stroll. As Taoqi walks home, she enjoys strolling through the streets of Jinzhou and chatting with its residents. She loves hearing stories from elders about the city's history and having lighthearted conversations with children that remind her of the hope within Jinzhou. This way of relaxation helps her become better connected to the city she lives in and also contributes to her work. Once in the past, the Midnight Rangers were always struggling to defend against surprise attacks from the Tacet Discords. With such extensive frontlines, it was nearly impossible to detect every breach and they were constantly vulnerable. So, they turned to Taoqi for help. Feeling stressed and overwhelmed, Taoqi took a break on a swing nearby. As she watched children playing in a sandpit, an idea came to her - just like how they filled the gaps in their sandcastles, they could also fill the gaps in the frontlines. She proposed building a sand wall at the frontline during Tacet Discord assaults. This would shorten the frontlines and limit the attack paths for the enemy. With fewer spots to defend, the Midnight Rangers would have more time to assess each attack and respond accordingly based on the varying frequencies caused by sand deformation. Thanks to Taoqi's clever thinking, they were able to better protect themselves against attacks and gain some much-needed breathing room on the frontlines. According to Taoqi, staring at a desk all day leads to monotony and disconnect from reality. So she seeks alternative methods for efficiency. It's in her free time that she stumbles upon unexpected guidance and inspiration through serendipitous encounters. |
 Crimson Shade in the Wild | Danjin | There are many dangerous areas near Jinzhou — the Dim Forest cloaked in towering trees; the Whining Aix's Mire shrouded in unending fog; and the Wasted Metropolis, where shadows hide unknown dangers. Generally speaking, people would always steer clear of such dangerous places. Even on those rare occasions when they have to pass through these places, they do so carefully and try their best to hide themselves. However, there was one girl who didn't follow this unspoken rule. The girl, clothed in vivid red, strolled through dangerous streets with an air of ease. The bright jade pendant she wore danced to the tune of her light footsteps. Naturally, this alluring appearance made her a prime target for predators. A bandit approached her under the guise of offering help, and asked why she was wandering alone in this desolate and treacherous place. "I'm looking for someone," the girl answered. "Wow, small world! I hardly see anyone around here. Funny enough, I actually saved someone recently and they're at my place. Maybe it's the person you're looking for? Want me to take you there?" The bandit eagerly offered. The girl studied him thoughtfully, pondering for a moment before finally giving a timid nod. Pleased with this response, the bandit immediately led the girl to his camp. They veered off the main roads and soon found themselves in a desolate place, shrouded in dense fog and overgrown with vegetation. Eerie cries echoed from the depths of the forest — was it a child's wail or a cat's scream? No one knew the answer. The bandit, stealing a glance at the girl, worried that his prey may be scared off by the bloodcurdling ambiance. However, she still wore a calm expression with no trace of fear on her beautiful face. "Stupid chick," the bandit snickered to himself. As they approached an old iron door at the end of the path, intermittent whimpers could be heard from behind it. The girl pushed the door open and inside, they found a trembling and battered little girl. "Is this the one you're looking for?" asked several bandits with wicked grins, surrounding the girl. "Exactly!" replied the girl with a bright smile. Amidst deafening screams and agonized moans, crimson blood splattered everywhere... And so began a brutal slaughter that hushed even the evening glow. |
| A Strange Customer | Danjin | Uncle Wei the blacksmith had a strange customer one day. It was a young girl, who looked puny and quiet. Her request, however, was rather unusual: she asked him to repair a broken sword. "What happened to it?" Uncle Wei furrowed his brow and inquired. He was no stranger to repairing all kinds of damaged weapons; still, he couldn't help but wonder what could have caused such significant wear on this blade. In his mind's eye, Uncle Wei conjured up an image of a formidable big man wielding the sword with immense power, slashing through whatever stood in his way without mercy. By no means could he relate this image to a slender girl like her. "Sorry, I may have hit them a bit too hard... I didn't mean it..." the girl answered, her embarrassment evident. "Is it difficult to repair?" Uncle Wei stared at her in disbelief. He examined the rolled edge with his callused finger and replied, "...No worries. I'll give it a go." With precision and skill, Uncle Wei heated the blade until it glowed and struck it forcefully with his hammer. Sparks flew, but the blade remained unyielding. Years of expertise guided him as he inspected and stroked the damaged metal, contemplating each blow. In a moment of clarity, he discovered the problem. "The blade is exceptionally hard but lacks toughness. Its center of mass is off now, and it has a special frequency. It's difficult to repair and sharpen with traditional tools." "If you wanna get it repaired," Uncle Wei continued, "you'll need some really hard gray chalks with a good amount of Tacetite. But they're not easy to get, only found in a dangerous place, with a lot of rock cliffs! Don't get your hopes up, kid." "You mean the Desorock Highland, right? Please give me some time. I'll be back soon." With those words, the girl dashed out like the wind, leaving Uncle Wei confused and the rolled blade forgotten. She returned shortly after, carrying a big piece of gray chalk with ease. "Is this enough?" she asked, surprising Uncle Wei with her quick return from the dangerous Desorock Highland. "Absolutely!" he stammered, amazed at her speed. How did she make it back so quickly? The girl smiled, and cute dimples appeared on her face — a faint red spot could be vaguely seen on one of her dimples. Was it a mole? Or was it... something else? |
| Special Loong Whisker Crisps | Danjin | Every food vendor in Jinzhou knows Danjin. After the rain, when the sun peeks through and the air is thick with humidity, they all set up their stalls. It's a symphony of clanging pots and sweet smelling syrup. That's when Danjin shows up, handing over a neat stack of Shell Credits for her favorite snack: two pieces of Loong Whiskers Crisp. She always puts one in her pocket first, and then eagerly breaks apart the other, savoring each piece like it's a precious gem. A food vendor lady noticed Danjin always came alone and couldn't help but feel sorry for her: Even the cheapest snacks in Jinzhou, like Loong Whiskers Crisps, seemed so precious to this girl. Wanting to spread some kindness, the lady started giving Danjin extra snacks popular with girls her age — from pretty Rock Sugar to fluffy Dreamy Floss, and more. At first, Danjin would always refuse, because she felt uncomfortable accepting someone's generosity without a good reason, and because her wallet was running on empty from constantly repairing her weapons. However, the lady insisted it wouldn't be trouble to let Danjin have some more sweets for free, as she always prepared extra snacks for her sweets-loving younger sister back home, who was approximately Danjin's age. Touched by this genuine kindness, Danjin eventually nodded and accepted the extra snacks. From that day on, every time the vendor lady gave Danjin extra snacks, a mysterious gift appeared on her stall. Rock sugar brought a Pearl Leaf, while Dreamy Floss resulted in a Caltrop. These herbs were crucial in easing her younger sister's panic disorder, which she hadn't even told Danjin about. Maybe sooner or later, her younger sister would be able to leave the house by herself, and enjoy the freshly made Loong Whiskers Crisps with Danjin. |
| Prey or the Hunter? | Danjin | Danjin is indeed traveling in the wild to look for someone. She is looking for revenge. One vicious group of bandits was kidnapping children for sinister purposes. Years ago, they slaughtered Danjin's entire family. Her younger sister, a girl with a kind soul, opened the door for them out of sympathy, only to welcome the bloodthirsty blades that claimed her family's lives. The culprits already met the wrath of Danjin's sword, but even after many years, similar tragedies continued to occur. The evil persisted. It seemed like an impenetrable barrier, preventing anyone from escaping their grasp. Day after day, month after month, new tragedies emerged as other evildoers continued their reign of terror. Danjin knew she had to find the root and eradicate it once and for all to stop the cycle of pain and suffering inflicted upon the innocent. She would not rest until justice was served and peace was restored. Danjin decided to make herself the bait. She travelled through treacherous terrain looking all innocent and defenseless, wiping out one hideout after another while hunting for more clues. Hidden throughout the wilderness were these camps, blending into the natural surroundings. With precision and thoroughness, she scoured every inch of each campsite, uncovering vital details amidst the blood-stained haystacks and dilapidated structures. Her efforts paid off when she discovered that all the camp vehicles had passed through a specific location: where the bandits had been ambushing innocent victims. Hiding in the tall weeds, Danjin nibbled on a Loong Whiskers Crisp, her eyes glued to the foggy crossroad. For seven days she had been waiting at this crossroad, stopping any suspicious vehicles that passed by. She refused to give up hope of catching those bandits, no matter what. Finally, eerie headlights and crunching wheels broke through the dense fog. The wheels' creaking almost drowned out a faint whimper, but it didn't escape Danjin's ears. Emerging from her hiding place, Danjin approached the vehicle. She recited the lines she prepared with a perfectly practiced timid voice: "Excuse me... I'm lost. Could you please give me a ride?" |
| Moonlit Determination | Danjin | Eliminating all evil is a daunting task. That foggy crossroad had turned out to be merely a transit point, but Danjin wasn't discouraged. Small progress is still progress, and besides, she had rescued some kidnapped children along the way. After escorting the children to the Patrol Station, Danjin sighed in relief and decided to return to the city for some much-needed rest. She strolled down the decorated street illuminated by vibrant festival lanterns and warm lights. The moon shone brightly above, adding to the enchanting atmosphere of the night. Many years ago, on a similar moonlit night, her family shared precious moments together. Her mother had prepared a table full of mouth-watering dishes, whereas Danjin's younger sister happily presented two pieces of Loong Whiskers Crisp, one for herself, and one for Danjin. "B-Big sister, this is for you..." Her reminiscing was interrupted by a small voice. A younger girl held out a piece of Loong Whiskers Crisp, speaking to Danjin timidly. The treat was sprinkled with Dreamy Floss and colorful candies that fitted the festive vibe perfectly. The vendor lady, wearing a warm smile, gestured for Danjin to take it. Danjin's legs took her closer to the stall, and it seems there is a new face working at the stall today. "Thanks to your herbs, Xinxin can leave our house now. Since it's been safer recently, I decided to take her out to get some fresh air." "It's the first time she ever dared to talk to a stranger since her recovery. Maybe this is the blessing of fate?" Indeed, Danjin thought to herself. This little girl named Xinxin was one of the children she had rescued during one of her raids. The girl seemed to recognize Danjin, too. She took off a lantern decorating the stall and shoved it into Danjin's hand. "C-can we... set it off together?" Danjin nodded, and the three of them set off the lantern into the night sky. The lantern soared, carrying their wishes along with it, joining the thousands of other floating lights in the velvety night. |
 To the Days Ahead | Camellya | She awoke from her dream. The sun broke over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the Black Shores. It was the dawn of another ordinary day. Camellya opened her eyes, stretching leisurely atop the treetops. Her movements were graceful, and a fall would be unthinkable. Even if she did slip, the vines would cradle her fall. She loved sleeping like this, away from any disturbance or people. "What a beautiful morning," she mused. She felt stable, in mind and body, and the thought of needing the medical pod seemed distant. This was a good thing. She knew {PlayerName} was to remain in the Black Shores, preparing for {Male=his;Female=her} journey to Rinascita. The prospect delighted her, for that meant more time to talk, laugh, and spend time together. She gave {PlayerName} a gift, a bracelet designed to monitor frequencies, just like the one {Male=he;Female=she} had given her before. It was the first gift she had ever prepared for someone. "How peculiar!" she mused. To wonder about someone's safety, or whether they even existed... it was truly a novel feeling! Surely, it meant that she cared about their life. Such thoughts were foreign—she had never cared about her own life, or that of others. But after leaving the Stellar Matrix with {PlayerName} and discovering her identity as Lady Flora, she had begun to see things in a subtle new light. Still, she had no intention of following {PlayerName} to Rinascita. Their views on certain aspects of Solaris' history differed, and just as she did not intend to meddle in {Male=his;Female=hers} choices, she didn't feel the need to explain her own. In fact, to spare {PlayerName} from the added burden, she had kept some truths hidden from {Male=him;Female=her}. In the Stellar Matrix, she hadn't completely lost all memories of her past. Yes, her past… Camellya squinted, a soft hum escaping her lips as she contemplated her next move. She wanted to investigate further on her own, biding her time until the moment felt right to share what she knew with {PlayerName}. She had little faith in the organization built on this shore, and even less in the Tethys System. Aside from {PlayerName}, she had little trust in anyone else. Once, as Lady Flora, she had shied away from entanglements, unwilling to watch {PlayerName} sacrifice {Male=himself;Female=herself} for the greater good. But now her perspective had shifted. She saw little resemblance to the Lady Flora of her past. She had followed {PlayerName} travels from Jinzhou till now. A singular force, always moving forward, gathering a diverse array of companions along the way. She understood that this was still not her path, yet she no longer resisted observing it. Just as one pebble meets another, sending ripples across the water's surface, she embraced the idea of being a "variable" in this dance. Now, the joy she derived from their connection was profound. She felt no trace of the usual boredom creeping in, nor did she wish to erase thoughts of them. Instead, her thoughts often drifted to {Male=him;Female=her}, yearning to learn more about {Male=his;Female=her} adventures and share more delightful games. It was then Camellya realized that these thoughts had already left painful yet pleasing marks on her soul, long before she ever noticed. Feeling suddenly inspired, she activated her Terminal and drafted a brief message to {PlayerName}, set to send just before {Male=his;Female=her} departure. The bracelet allowed her to check on {Male=him;Female=her} anytime, so there was nothing to worry about. Though Solaris was vast, she believed that if they were threads in the same story, their paths would surely cross again. At a time when {PlayerName} was none the wiser, that's when she would surprise {Male=him;Female=her}! As she envisioned this delightful moment, a melody escaped her lips. Vines twisted around her arms, climbing upwards, as tiny buds began to bloom at their tips. Suddenly, a thought struck her. "I will give {Male=him;Female=her} a flower." As this idea took root in her mind, it consumed her completely. She had to find {PlayerName}—now! The flower, born from her very being, would neither wither nor decay unless she perished. She was stunned by her own eagerness and felt a flicker of sadness. As she reflected on it, a dull ache interrupted her thoughts. With a sigh, she chose not to dwell on it. For… Yes! A smile graced her lips as she resolved to keep that flower blooming for {PlayerName}. She would do her utmost not to die too soon. Camellya leaped from the treetops, joyfully headed toward {PlayerName}, her cherished seed of fate. |
| Labyrinth | Camellya | She awoke from her dream. The walls of the medical pod sank into darkness. Enveloped in heavy silence due to sound dampening, Camellya blinked and turned her dry gaze to the right. The indicators on the Terminal screen had returned to normal. The shackles around her wrists and ankles had loosened, yet she still felt weak, forcing her to remain lying in the narrow confines of the pod. She tried to recall what had happened. She forced a precarious composure trying to remember, but the lost memories felt like a bottomless black hole—gazing into it revealed only darkness. Her memories had fractured once again. Having been with the Black Shores for only a year, Camellya had recently passed the test to become an official Bloom Bearer. She now enjoyed greater access to the Tethys System's archives of information. Before her arrival there, she had wandered across Solaris for a long time. The cave where she first awoke showed no signs of other people, only twisted plants climbing the walls. Barefoot, Camellya waded through the water until she emerged into the open air, discovering a desolate village. Her foot struck something—a stone slab bearing the faded inscription, "Petalfall Village." It took her a long time to escape that abandoned place. When hunger struck, she hunted wild beasts for sustenance. When thirst overtook her, she drank from mountain springs. It took her several months to traverse the dense forests and finally arrive at a place bustling with people. Only later did she realize that the village had likely been forgotten for hundreds of years. Even after returning to civilization, Camellya's memories remained blank, unstimulated by her new surroundings. She felt like an untamed animal, living on pure instinct. The rules and regulations of the human world were foreign to her, but she wasn't frustrated—using her Forte was enough. To her, power was an instinctive weapon, and she wielded it freely, carving her own path through the Lament-scarred land. Initially, everything in Solaris fascinated her. However, as she gradually learned more, boredom set in quickly. Arriving at the Black Shores had been an accident, yet Camellya felt a strange familiarity with it. A year later, she found her name in the Tethys System and learned that she had once lived and worked there, known then as Lady Flora. It was odd how she had forgotten everything yet still remembered the name "Camellya." Driven by curiosity, she began her investigation of the Black Shores, eager to uncover her past and the stories of Lady Flora. What had truly happened to her? As those thoughts surfaced, a sharp pain pierced her head again, and the flower in her chest suddenly swelled, darkening to a deep purple. The sharp thorns of its veins threatened to tear through the medical pod. Fragments of memories flickered in her mind—Ah, Lady Flora had forbidden her from recalling the past. Camellya let out a muffled scream of pain as the restraints tightened once again around her limbs, and a loud alarm blared. Medical personnel would arrive soon. Yet, she knew there was little they could do. They had already examined her carefully, concluding that her Overclocking symptoms were unique and untreatable, manageable only through restraint. Death could offer relief, but in her current condition, she couldn't even simply die. All she could do was wait, wait for the grace of death. This passivity chafed at her spirit. If she couldn't decide the outcome, she at least wanted to control the process. "I'll follow my instincts until death finds me." "It hurts!" she thought. Despite her agony, Camellya laughed loudly. |
| A Fleeting Moment | Camellya | She awoke from her dream. Lady Flora opened her eyes, feeling the cold air brushing against her fingertips, making her hands and feet slightly numb. She dawdled in her seat for a moment, slowly sitting up to take in her surroundings. The vehicle had come to a halt in a cave, a refuge from the snowstorm outside, where an endless silver expanse of snow stretched before her. Frost flowers drifted gently from the sky, landing delicately on the tip of her nose. Shivering, she huddled deeper into her thick clothing. She was not the kind of plant that could withstand the cold. "Where did the leader go?" she asked after taking a few sips of water, turning to the Bloom Bearer in the front seat. "I didn't see {Male=him;Female=her}." "The leader? {Male=He;Female=She} went west. {Male=He;Female=She} said something interesting had turned up and wanted to take a look." "Why didn't {Male=he;Female=she} take me? I am {Male=his;Female=her} guard, after all!" she complained under her breath. Her fellow Bloom Bearer chuckled as he drove, barely glancing away from the steaming soup. "You were asleep! You haven't been sleeping well on the journey, always shivering in the cold. {Male=He;Female=She} didn't want to wake you while you finally caught some rest." Grumbling quietly under her breath, Lady Flora pouted and swung the door open. "Anyway, I'm off to find {Male=him;Female=her} now!" The Bloom Bearer waved her off, clearly used to the dynamic between Lady Flora and their leader. Leaving the warmth of the vehicle, Lady Flora dragged her feet across the snowy expanse, memories of their first encounter in Petalfall Village flooding back. She had known they would come to this snowy plain for the mission, and despite her dislike of the cold, she knew the time spent with the leader of the Black Shores would be worth it. Most of the time, she opted to accompany {PlayerName} on various errands, leaving her footprints across the tapestry of Solaris, from bustling towns to unknown alcoves, safe havens to treacherous lands. Lady Flora relished this existence, brimming with the thrill of the unknown, and {PlayerName} had an uncanny talent for transforming the ordinary into something extraordinary. She didn't mind the threat of danger. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. To her, danger signified change, and change led to excitement. She did find, however, that with her leader by her side, she stifled her impulse to seek out trouble for fun. Danger... Camellya raised her hand, the delicate chain on her wrist catching the light. The bracelet monitoring her Rabelle indicators read as normal. She squeezed her wrist and exhaled softly. "Good, everything is as it should be," she thought. "If I start spiraling out of control, {Male=he;Female=she} would have to look after me. It would derail the entire mission." She hated losing control. In recent years, Lady Flora had been haunted by bizarre and fragmented dreams. They felt like memories of a life she had never lived. In these dreams, she was always searching for {PlayerName}, but the two never found each other. Each time she jolted awake, a disquiet settled over her, the mental turmoil seeping into her very being. She was often forced to report to the Black Shores medical facility. The thought soured her mood. She needed to find {Male=him;Female=her} as quickly as possible. Shoving those tangled thoughts aside, she focused on pinpointing {PlayerName}'s frequencies. After crossing two hills and a frozen lake, she finally spotted a blurry figure in the distance. "Camellya, how did you sleep?" {Male=His;Female=Her} golden eyes sparkled with warmth, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Hehe… With my leader by my side, of course I had the sweetest dreams." she heard herself reply. |
| Eve | Camellya | She awoke from her dream. The interval between unconsciousness and consciousness became shorter with each passing day. Lady Flora was starting to find it hard to tell where her dreams ended and reality began. She couldn't even recall when this disorientation had started. Memories surged like turbulent waves, crashing into her mind and wreaking havoc on her senses. Pain ripped through her body, relentlessly and unforgivingly. She opened her mouth to scream, but Overclocking had turned her throat into a gnarled, coarse root, silencing her cries. After struggling to take just a few faltering steps, she collapsed onto a muddy riverbank, trembling, her fingertips spasming uncontrollably. How many times had this happened? She stared blankly at the dark night sky above. A void of chaos swirled within her, yet there was one thing that stood out in sharp relief: {PlayerName}. She remembered everything now. Who she was, who {PlayerName} is, the reason for her being, Solaris, and the Lament… Before the madness of Overclocking engulfed her, those memories were always buried deep, locked in the depths of her being. Each time she awoke, she lost all recollection, left only with an aching void. As time passed and her body weakened under the strain of Overclocking, glimpses of her mission and roots would resurface, only to vanish again in an endless cycle. How many times had it happened? Lady Flora had no answer. Civilizations crumbled into dust, only to rise anew; life faded, only to blossom once more. She was witness to the ebb and flow of Solaris, yet remained forever a wanderer in her own mind. "{PlayerName}…" The name slipped from her lips like a prayer. They had never truly met or exchanged words, and now, with her memories fading, she couldn't even tell if they were friends or foes. Yet somehow, the next time she awoke she knew her instincts would lead her to seek {Male=him;Female=her} out. It was not a tender yearning. It felt more like the weight of a heavy chain, one Lady Flora could not resist. Yet she felt no hatred for this chain. The rustle of leaves shattered her reverie. Wearily, she blinked, and the red camellia unfurled, its vines piercing through the Tacet Discords lurking in the shadows. Yes, this was her instinct, her essence, the core of her being... Even as she teetered on the edge of forgetting everything, she could always rely on her instincts. In truth, beyond her instincts, there was nothing left for her to hold onto. "Next time, if only I could truly get to know {PlayerName} and share a conversation with {Male=him;Female=her}." Lady Flora mused hazily. Perhaps the Tethys System would lead {PlayerName} to her since she had already revealed herself in this mission. Lady Flora closed her eyes and surrendered to the darkness as the pain peaked. The lake's cool water swelled across her cheek, the camellia withering as its vines retreated into her body. The autumn night breeze blew through the leaves, caressing her as she lay by the lake. To the north, the villagers of Petalfall Village would soon awaken from their dreams, calling to one another as they prepared to set out on a new day of fishing. |
| Once Upon a Time | Camellya | She awoke from her dream. The wind howled fiercely at the rooftop's edge as she stretched, squinting down at the lively streets below. Vehicles crisscrossed the roads, their taillights forming a vibrant, fiery chain. Resting her chin on her hand, she began to hum. It was a song she had learned from {PlayerName}. Of course, she hadn't heard it directly from {PlayerName} {Male=himself;Female=herself}, she had picked it up secretly. They might not be enemies, but their relationship was far from friendly—at best, it was a one-sided acquaintance. {PlayerName}'s presence had caught the eye of various factions, including her own organization. Yet, that hardly concerned her, nor was it something she could afford to contemplate. She was merely a "chosen seed," a "flower" that bloomed for the sole purpose of hunting {PlayerName} down. Most days, the injections left her in a fog, drifting through a semi-conscious haze, with only her instinctual yearning for a certain person carved deep into her heart. The substance she was administered had a sharp, acrid scent, dragging her reason into a mire, robbing her of clarity and self. Her thoughts whirled chaotically, like a bomb on the brink of detonation, forced to reset just before the countdown expired. But she didn't care. Outside of {PlayerName}, little else piqued her interest. Sometimes, {Male=he;Female=she} felt like a mere silhouette against a blank canvas, an outline of a stranger. The portrait was drawn from fragments of information she had painstakingly gathered—they were so close yet had never truly met. She didn't know what {Male=he;Female=she} looked like. It was said this distance was necessary to evade the Tethys System's tracking. Contact was forbidden. But how she longed to meet {PlayerName}! Perched dangerously on the edge of the building, she laughed at the fantasy. Vines entwined around her arms, climbing higher, their delicate buds slowly unfurling at their tips. Suddenly, a thought struck her. "I'll give {Male=him;Female=her} a flower." The moment the thought emerged, it consumed her entirely. She envisioned the moment she would find {PlayerName} and present this gift—a blossom sprouted from her very being. It would neither wither nor decay unless she perished. But just as quickly as it came, the thought vanished into the chaos of her mind, leaving no trace behind. Little did she know, centuries later, the scene before her would vanish in the Lament. She would wander endlessly through a labyrinth of memories until one autumn morning, by a lake in Petalfall Village, where she would finally meet {PlayerName}, there to rescue the village from Tacet Discord attacks. From there, she would join the Black Shores and share a few hundred years together before {Male=he;Female=she} would eventually leave her. She, too, would leave the Black Shores, only to be reunited decades later in Jinzhou. All those futures had yet to unfold, just as possibilities slumbered within seeds, waiting for fate to blossom. She leaped from the building, her vines weaving through the city's structures, searching for {Male=him;Female=her}. |
 Golden Harpoon | Roccia | Battier, the Fool's Troupe's best fisherman, ran into trouble one day on what was supposed to be an ordinary fishing trip. With only his trusted harpoon, he fought against an aquatic Tacet Discord so ferocious that it soon dragged him beneath the waves. Luckily, Roccia sensed something was off when Battier didn't return as expected and quickly rallied troupe members to form a small rescue team. They searched the nearby waters and finally pulled a drenched, beleaguered Battier ashore. However, his well-worn harpoon hadn't fared as well—it was wedged tight in the Tacet Discord's side, and both were swallowed by a whirlpool in the sea. Without his harpoon, Battier felt like he'd lost part of his spirit. He'd spend hours baiting traps and coming up empty, as if the fish sensed his missing piece, too. Some days, he'd just lie in the black sand of the Strand, staring at the dim sky. Even the clouds seemed to taunt him, shaping themselves into fish that drifted further and further away. "Aaaaah—!" he shouted at the sky in helpless frustration. As if to ease his mind, the clouds began to part, layer by layer, and beams of light spilled down, turning the sky into a shimmering sea. Right in the center, his lost harpoon appeared, descending like a divine gift from the heavens, gleaming in golden sunlight. It landed straight into his hand as if it had never left. In the meantime, fish swarmed to him once more, dancing through the air and across the water. Heartened by this wonder, Battier hauled in a full net to bring back to the troupe. Roccia and Pero used the catch to whip up a feast—roasted squid, creamy clam chowder, peppered fish steaks, and so on. The air was filled with the rich aroma of seafood as everyone gathered by the fire, laughing and eating together. Someone even wielded a fish skewer as a sword, putting on a little show that had people in stitches. Looking at the jolly crowd, Battier felt a warm feeling inside—it's the simple joy of being needed and the thrill of fishing for those who truly appreciated him. While the others were enjoying the feast, Roccia exchanged a quick smile with Pero before hiding the Cloudcaster they'd used earlier in a haystack. As a prop master, she knew how much meaning certain objects held for people. No matter how difficult, she'd always find a way to retrieve what was lost—whether from the sea or the sky. After giving them a good polish, she'd plan a heartwarming, dramatic reunion, just as she'd done with Battier's golden harpoon. From that day on, the troupe had a new show: Battier and the Golden Harpoon. The crew enjoyed re-enacting this enchanting story with grilled fish in hand and hearts full of laughter. |
| Safe Voyage | Roccia | To become the troupe's first mate, one must prove they can face down any storm the sea can throw at them. That's why every first mate must pass a trial—a perilous voyage led by the troupe's best helmsperson. For Roccia, her helmsperson was none other than Tina. Even with young Roccia onboard, Tina held firm, steering the ship straight into the heart of a brewing storm with steady hands, unflinching as she faced the dark, roiling waves. Roccia didn't seem fazed at first. She calmly pulled out one of Pero's scripts, reading as if she were back under the troupe's tent instead of on a ship pitching wildly in the storm. She dabbed seawater from her face, reading plays prepared by Pero as though it were all a practiced routine. Years of crafting props and performing on stage had made her adaptable, and her time with Pero had taught her to understand and respond to the subtle frequencies of the Echo ship. But as they reached the depths of the storm, faint, glowing eyes began to surface in the dark waters, and ominous whispers carried on the wind. Roccia's steady demeanor seemed to falter—her hand wavered as she tucked the script away and gripped the edge of the cabin. Eventually, even the hardened Tina noticed Roccia's trembling. At a loss on how to comfort her, Tina instead raised her voice in song, her voice strong and steady, resonating with the Echo ship. All she could do in this situation was to hold the ship steady through the rough waters, which required absolute focus. Then, a softer voice joined her. Tina looked back to see Roccia huddled near the cabin, singing along with a light quaver in her voice. Though fear glinted in her eyes, Roccia hadn't forgotten her duty. She took out her telescope, scanning the dark horizon for their course. Tina's voice rose stronger, blending with Roccia's softer notes, overpowering the ominous whispers around them. Catching the right current, the ship surged forward, breaking through the storm into the first light of dawn. Back on shore, Roccia's face was as calm and collected as ever. From that day on, First Mate Roccia guided every voyage with a steady hand, always bringing people safely home. "Roccia?" Tina, known for her blunt honesty, was asked later. She grinned, a glint of pride in her eyes. "She's tough and dependable—a good girl who deserves love and care. As for her pitch… well, let's just say it may not be perfect, but it's got heart." |
| Old Ticket | Roccia | Besides the twinkling star, little Luca's most cherished item is an old ticket. Luca remembers the day Roccia handed it to her after she'd been rescued from the Strand. Roccia was calm and steady, even though she couldn't have been much older than Luca herself. She could handle anything—helping lost pilgrims who drifted ashore, cooking meals for the troupe, recording funny moments, collecting seashells and Luceanites, even refilling the confetti pistol. And of course, cheering up homesick little newcomers like Luca was all part of her role. One day, Luca looked up at Roccia with a sniffle, holding the ticket tightly in her little hand. "I miss my Mama, Roccia… I want to go home and see her. But I only have a one-way ticket, and I lost it…" The ticket in his hand read, "One-Way Ticket to Wonderland," written in beautiful handwriting with tiny flowers around the edges. Roccia knew right away what this was about. The Order, always busy banishing anyone who challenged them, would never be so kind as to make such a heartwarming ticket. She was sure Luca's mother had made it herself, hoping to give her a bit of comfort. Roccia wanted to reveal the truth to her. "The Order didn't make these tickets, Luca. From the handwriting, it looks like a kind lady made it… someone who loves you." "They were made by your mother, Luca. They can't really bring you home, so it doesn't matter if they're lost." But she knew saying that might only make Luca cry more. Roccia thought for a moment, then left and returned with a new ticket—a "Return Ticket," decorated with painted flowers, seashells, and a hand-drawn stamp that read, "Arrived at Wonderland." Luca's face lit up as she took it, clutching it tightly with a huge smile. As the troupe's prop master, Roccia could easily make something like that, but there was more to it than just crafting. She remembered when Pero had done the same for her when she first arrived on the island. Sometimes, a little piece of paper was all it took to hold a whole lot of hope. |
| Peculiar Box | Roccia | Little Roccia lay weak on the Strand, with the wreckage of her pilgrim ship battered to pieces by the waves behind her. Her fading eyes caught glimpses of Tacet Discords scattered across the water. So this would be the end of her "pilgrimage"... She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what she thought would be "divine judgment." However, death didn't come as she expected. All she could hear was wind and faint cries in the air. When she opened her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a peculiar box and a long arm reaching out to her—a hand offering her a second chance at life. At first, Roccia felt lost after joining the troupe, for the little world she once knew had shattered. She soon realized she had been banished simply for singing songs from forbidden plays. The Ragunna she remembered—alive with plays, flowers, and freedom—had faded, leaving only the Order's lies and the hollow shell of her memories. The pilgrimage she once believed in was a ruse, wrapped in false promises, with a so-called "return ticket" meant only to fool children like her. Overnight, everything she held dear crumbled. Roccia began to question her love for theater—was it even worth anything anymore? But stranded on a desolate island, she found nothing else to rebuild her world. "Pero! Pero!" The odd box handed her a small, hand-drawn ticket with "Return Trip" written on it, decorated with painted seashells. "Pero! Pero!" It passed her a yellowed play script, filled with tales of Ragunna and lyrics of freedom. "Pero! Pero!" Out came a beautifully crafted mask, painted with intricate patterns and adorned with pearls and shells. "Pero! Pero!" The box reached out to her once more, inviting her to join the troupe's next performance. Tina's bright voice rang out, Bardolino flew in the air with balloons and tossed petals, Brant swung down on a rope holding a massive welcome banner, and Pero fired the confetti pistol, inviting her to the stage. This lively, chaotic welcome was Roccia's first taste of a different kind of play—a play filled with nothing but pure joy. From that moment on, Roccia began to rebuild her world through the plays held within Pero's box. She saw that Ragunna's grand stage had been a place of strict control, where only songs that conformed to the Order's tenets were permitted. But here, among her fellow "Fools," she could finally express everything—joy, anger, and sorrow—freely. Together, they were all building a new home. Now, Roccia works confidently between the troupe's base and the Strand, calmly coordinating the rescue of new pilgrims and keeping this safe harbor running. Each task, no matter how small, is a piece of the home she's building—a place where she can finally belong, busy and content. |
| New Stage | Roccia | People came and went in the Troupe of Fools, each one inspiring Roccia's lively performances. Shows like "Battier and the Golden Harpoon," "Tina the Soprano Navigator," "Brant the Maverick Captain," and "Pero the Peculiar Box" became legends of their own. By now, she and the crew had put on over two hundred performances, lighting up every corner of Penitent's End. The troupe didn't have much, so as the prop master, Roccia became a master of turning everyday items into theater magic. Battier's golden harpoon, for instance, had played the part of a Primus's scepter, a wandering knight's sword, and even the La Guardia's dagger. The Echo ship had starred as everything from a lifeboat to a windmill giant's boot and even the eye of a sea monster. For years, Roccia and Pero explored every inch of the Troupe's home base, every stretch of the island shore. They collected countless Luceanites from the Strand and watched thousands of sunrises. Like the others, they had been confined to this place for too long. The troupe was a warm haven for every member, but inevitably, some still dreamed of distant horizons while others longed for the homes they had left behind. When the long-awaited music of the Carnevale drifted across the sea from Ragunna, along with petals celebrating the crowned Laureate, the Troupe of Fools felt the undeniable pull of a homeward wind. Childhood memories were hazy for Roccia, but as she followed Brant and the crew into Ragunna's streets, the familiar smell of Trattoria Margherita's fresh-baked pizza and the songs spilling from the Odyssey Opera House stirred something deep within her, just like it did everyone else. Under a golden sun in a clear sky, the city streets stretched out like a stage waiting for her. A soft breeze seemed to nudge open the box she had always hidden herself in, inviting her to step into a broader world. With open arms and a steady heart, Roccia took her first steps into Ragunna, welcoming a better tomorrow. Now, as the Troupe of Fools' reliable first mate, Roccia stands ready to fill Ragunna's streets with laughter and joy once more. |
 Round Table | Cantarella | The light filtered through the stained glass, casting a speckled pattern across the crimson sofa. Dim lamps flickered softly in the misty purple room. Around the round table sat several indistinct figures. Some lounging in the light, others half-immersed in the shadows. The lady who arranged this gathering, or at least, by her position, that's what it seemed, spoke first. She had long, silky purple hair, and her indigo eyes, veiled in a soft mist, gave her an ethereal, dreamlike vibe. Lounging lazily on the sofa, she absentmindedly toyed with the sapphire pendant on her chest, a habit she indulged whenever lost in thought. "I've gathered everyone today to discuss one thing: where should we stay? In the 'Illusory Dream,' or in reality?" "Since we've been wandering the edge of dreams, should we remain here, in this illusion, where everything is familiar, light and delicate as bubbles? Or should we step forward, into reality, where we might face the unknown… but also see sights we've never known?" A lazy but resolute voice cut through her words. "How weak of you, Cantarella. You may be head of the family now, but from what I see, you're far from being capable." A figure emerged from the shadows, a woman with long hair cascading like a waterfall. She wore the same sapphire pendant and carried an air of grace similar to Cantarella's, but with the undeniable weight of experience and authority. Her deep purple eyes glinted with an unquestionable edge. "This meeting is pointless. Just pour the 'Velvet Dream' into the waterfall behind the castle, and let all of Ragunna fall into a dream under your control. That way, we will be queen wherever we go." "Invalid answer. Or, if you insist, it will be counted as a vote for 'Illusory Dream.' Though it sounds a little wild and impractical, I'll still write it down for fairness. This is our discussion, after all." A young girl sitting beside them answered, opening a notebook full of strange doodles. She found a small space nearly buried under potion recipes and seriously drew a neat line. "I abstain," she said casually. "This discussion probably won't change anything. You already have your answer, don't you? For me, it doesn't matter where we stay." She closed the notebook with a soft snap and shook out her white shawl. The light caught her blue, hazy eyes. "Why can't we just keep it simple and follow our hearts? Cantarella, you like watching the birds outside the window and long for a life of freedom, right? Then just do what feels right," said the youngest one, sprawled on the sofa, her hands lazily chasing the dust motes dancing in the light. "This is an important decision and should be discussed seriously," Cantarella replied, her voice tinged with a hint of helplessness. "Let's start with you then. Please explain your choice and the reasoning behind it." |
| Thorned Crown | Cantarella | The deep purple, venomous crown, when first placed upon the brow, brings a sharp sting. Yet, the blood that seeps from the forehead nourishes it, making it shine ever brighter. Soaked in the blood and tears of countless souls, this crown of toxic thorns rises from the depths of the sea, symbolizing those who work silently against the chaos to support the weight of the Celestial Steed's tail feathers. Such is the glory of the Fisalia family, and its inescapable fate. But what of each member of the family? In the dark, deep sea, they suffer the gnawing whispers, until the faintest glimmer of true faith in their hearts fades, lost to the abyss. The next in line to wear the crown will take up the duty, and so the cycle endures, unbroken, with no beginning or end. Fragrant yet toxic blooms, Colorless, flavorless tears of poisons, Twisted organs and venomous breaths, Neurotoxins, Biotoxins, Metallic toxins… The poisons and toxins the Fisalias so pride themselves on and the abilities birthed from them will inevitably be undone by the whispers… In the end, they only come in handy when used to seek the end of life, either for the Fisalias themselves or their kin. This had long been the norm until I developed the "Illusory Dream." When the thorned crown burrowed into my flesh, the blood flew in strange, shimmering hues. Black tea steeped in mercury tasted like rich, honeyed nectar, while scones soaked in Jellyrose juice had a delicate sweetness. The heat in my throat was searing, as if hastily swallowing an entire cherry, and the suffocating sensation was like drifting in an endless sea… Slowly, the pain faded, and both body and mind became light as air. The bottles of poisons shattered on the floor, and our expressions turned relieved. The whispers were powerless in the world woven by the sea of dreams, for it gently dissolved all discord. Amidst the colorful waves, the once harsh thorned crown was softened… So soft that it formed delicate folds, resting lightly on my head. It became light and pure, like the tail feathers of the Celestial Steed. That's why I cast my vote for "Illusory Dream." After all, what harm is there in this illusion? Have we not all wandered here for so long? Pour the "Velvet Dream" into the waterfall behind the castle, and let the whole of Ragunna fall into a dream shaped by my hand… Rest assured, this is but a joke. I do not seek to control but only wish for all to live more peacefully. You see, the "Illusory Dream" flows within our veins, and whether we like it or not, it's a permanent and inseparable part of us. |
| Jellyfish Lamp | Cantarella | In the dimly lit room, heavy with a peculiar scent, a faint yellow light illuminated an old notebook and a strange cauldron. The young woman, wrapped in a white shawl, scribbled notes in the book while casually tossing ingredients into the cauldron. The smoke rising from it darkened her clothes, leaving patches of black and purple. Her once-clean apron was now speckled, but she wiped her face carelessly, unfazed by the mess. Distilled water, peppermint, castor bean, barnacle fish leaves, rosemary… The scent was fresh, the toxicity mild, with soothing and analgesic effects. It could treat the common Infantile Gray Matter syndrome seen recently… I'll write this recipe on a small note and leave it for Chloe later. Hilo grass, sea okra, barnacle fish leaves, sea apple juice… The scent was unpleasant, and the toxicity potent, though it could counteract some nerve paralysis reactions. Hmm, but the side effects… Never mind, I'll keep it. Sea okra mucilage, barnacle fish leaves dried and crushed, a splash of sea apple juice, a touch of Jellyrose juice… The toxicity of Jellyrose is too strong. Effective, but too risky. Crush the barnacle fish leaves, drizzle with Violacas juice, mix with sea okra mucilage, add a bit of sea apple juice, and let it ferment in a glass vial… Done. Once consumed, it soothes the spirit and neutralizes most poison reactions. I should distribute some to everyone to get through the trials in the coming days. And the name… okay, I'll call it Velvet Dream. The ingredients, processing method, sequence of preparation, and environmental temperature… Handle each step at the right moment, and I can brew the perfect elixir. I believe the same applies to life. At the right moment, with the right steps, most problems can be solved. No matter how illogical the rules or how brutal the situation is, there is always a way to find the right approach. Therefore, I stepped into the darkness with the lamp, facing my fears. The abyss mocked me—reclusive, weak, incapable of adapting. Its taunting howls echoed through the corridors, the twisted frequencies of past family heads surging forward, engulfing me. Serious, rigid, pale, gloomy, silent… They knew me too well, able to predict my every move and trap me effortlessly. But still, I played my very first and last trick as I drank a large dose of Velvet Dream in advance. The moment the jellyfish's poisonous thorns pierced my skin, I pressed the Jellyrose Medusa to my head. The violent toxins clashed within my veins, nearly tearing me apart. My soul rolled between life and death, on the verge of spilling out through my burning throat. I couldn't tell if it was blood, tears, or sweat mixed with the remnants of the potion… It dripped onto the almost extinguished lamp. A small jellyfish wobbled out from the faint light. When I raised my eyes, the darkness lifted, and my blurred vision filled with colorful, vivid illusions. It worked. So, like I said, any situation can be solved with the right steps at the right time, even if you're just one part of the process. Since then, I've remained in a perpetual state between life and death, between dreams and reality. I often catch glimpses of lingering illusions, like the girl in the red hat. Who is she? Is it me? Or someone else? I can't figure it out. Anyway, I'll abstain from voting. It doesn't matter whether it's in a dream or reality. I've been used to it, and I can survive anywhere. |
| Uncaged Bird | Cantarella | Since I could remember, I had always been in that big, empty house. I would walk from one end to the other, knowing every tile on the floor and every potion bottle on the shelves. The house was gray, dark, and quiet. The only time it ever felt alive was when a bird flew past the window. I would watch its white wings flutter up and down until it became nothing more than a tiny dot in the sky. Beyond that, the sky turned a clear blue, and the trees shone a bright green. It was such a beautiful sight. That was when I would wonder… what was happening in that thick forest? Maybe a princess was having an adventure. I imagined a clever princess who knew how to spot a poisoned apple. When a snake chased her, a little bird would swoop in to save her, carrying her high into the sky. There, she would find a girl in red shoes who couldn't stop dancing and save her. Then, they would dive into the sea to rescue a siren who was on the verge of turning into foam. In the end, the bird would carry them all, flying as far as it could until it could fly no more, finally landing in a castle… But what was the castle like? I only hoped it wasn't like the manor I lived in—big and boring. Sorry, that probably sounds all over the place, doesn't it? Well… Mother and Father always said that girls from the Fisalia family didn't need to read silly fairytales or have strange ideas like that. We were supposed to read books—books like The Complete Guide to Poison Recipes, The Fisalia Family's Secret Elixirs, and 108 Poisons You Never Knew About. They were interesting, but after reading them too many times, they became dull. Still, Mother and Father insisted that I memorize everything so that one day, I could save myself, or perhaps even become a Maiden or the family's leader. It sounded like a huge responsibility. I didn't really understand it yet, but I did what they told me. They were always busy, always rushing around. Whenever they left, they locked the door extra tight and checked it over and over again. I never understood why they grew busier and thinner. And why did they drink so much "water" and mumble strange words? I had learned to say those words too: "It's the glory and fate of the Fisalias." Eventually, I grew older and had to move to a different house. When I left, Mother and Father looked proud, but their eyes were full of tears. "Indeed, milord, our child has great talent, especially in brewing poisons." "Yes, becoming a candidate for the trials is the glory and fate of the Fisalias." That was the first time I ever left home. As I stepped outside, my footsteps startled the crows perched on the dead tree near the gate. They flapped their black wings and took off, flying toward a strange castle in the distance. Oh, sorry, I went off track again. What I meant to say was... after spending so long flying through dreams, you start to miss the feeling of your feet on the ground. Sure, you might step into mud or get pricked by sharp stones, but there was something comforting about taking each step on solid earth. So, when it came time to vote, I chose reality—The Other Side of the Dream, as the adults liked to call it. They always used fancy terms like that. But deep down, you already knew what your heart truly wanted, didn't you? Not just in dreams, but in reality, too. You could open the door, step outside, and go with everyone. Just fly alongside the white birds and chase after the happily-ever-after ending for everyone. |
| Lucid Dream | Cantarella | In the misty purple room, voices blended together—the majestic and enchanting, the cold and resolute, and the genuine and innocent. They intertwined, forming a dreamlike symphony. The sapphire light shimmered with quiet authority, the pages of a book rustled softly, and the scent of freshly baked pastries mingled with the warmth of the room, creating a sweet, ethereal atmosphere. Cantarella lifted the delicate teapot and poured the tea, a change from the usual. No longer the alluring purple hues, but a cup of tea with a refreshing clarity. "Thank you for your invaluable opinions," she said, setting the teapot down. The fresh aroma filled the room. "Now, I've made up my mind." "I will continue to wear the crown of thorns, for the poison has already sunk deep into my bones, and the dream is a part of me I cannot remove." "I will keep brewing potions, for they are needed not just by the Fisalias, but by all in struggle." "I will step outside and follow the flight of birds, into the mountains and the streets. The whispers that once trapped us are gone, and now we are free." "I am still within the dream, but I will strive to feel the ground beneath my feet… In that fleeting moment between dream and reality, I will hold on to what is real." Cantarella took a deep breath, slowly opening her eyes. She had just woken from a brief afternoon nap, stepping out from a hazy yet lucid dream. The sunlight at three in the afternoon filtered through the glass window, casting a quiet glow over her lonely figure in the room. The only sounds left were the gentle bubbling of the tea and her steady breathing. She picked up her cup and took a sip. The fresh aroma soothed the restless Tacet Mark in her mouth. It no longer draws power from illusion or pain. This was the tea she had bought earlier this morning in Ragunna, just ordinary tea. The faint sweetness and subtle fragrance reminded her of a breeze in the countryside, of dew drops hanging on fresh leaves… So, this was the taste of peace and happiness after everything had settled. The door creaked open. She poured another cup and offered it to the guest who had just arrived. The guest had black hair and golden eyes, a presence of calm and unwavering strength that grounded the room. This quiet, tranquil afternoon was a miracle granted by no other but {PlayerName}. The soft sunlight brushed through the room, and the refreshing fragrance lingered between them, filling the space around the two teacups. She lifted her violet-blue eyes, the mist long faded, her gaze now like a calm sea, with just the ripple of gentle feelings. |
 Song of Red and Black | Phrolova | The audience drowned in the performance. Some sat frozen, others trembled, swaying like reeds in a storm. In the dark, countless eyes locked onto that lone, delicate yet powerful figure, their stares hypnotized by the rise and fall of her arms, like scattered notes lost in a feverish improvized elegy. The presto's boiling melodies ignited the burning desires in their chests. Suppressed emotions flared. Uncontrolled. Uncontained. They choked on the music's maddening climax, dragged to the edge of their sanity alongside her. At the cliff's brink, above a yawning abyss, they hungered for the blossoms of destruction and rebirth. Yet, just before that leap could be taken, the conductor stilled her arms under the spotlight. The music ceased with a sudden, almost cruel finality. She stood there motionless, like a statue, chest heaving. The last tether of reason that pulled her back had snapped, dissolving into the sea of emotions where she drifted alone. Her gaze was set on the ceiling, never once lowering to meet the eyes of the audience below. Was that the end? Silent. Perturbed. Lost. The audience began leaving in a daze. But before they reached the door, the music returned like echoes from the past. It easily hissed back to life in an endless loop in their skulls, more captivating than when it was first heard, awakening and amplifying the madness within each one's heart. In an era of brightness, people would walk out with smiles on their faces, embracing a gilded tomorrow as they drank the crimson song. In an era of darkness, the blackened song would become the final straw, leading them to the windows above without hesitation. She never seemed to care what color her music might paint for others. She only continued to sway her hands through the cycle of time. And those sitting in the music hall never pondered where the music would lead them. Time and time again the creator of those warm and sorrowful melodies stood on that stage, yet no one ever paused to wonder what kept her there—whether it was art, fury, or grief for a love long buried in dust. |
| Hidden Lycoris | Phrolova | The scarlet hall was often empty, its only occupants the Overseers' flags fluttering in the cold wind. Among them, the flag bearing the Lycoris had long since discolored, yet it clung stubbornly to its place, never falling. As most Fractsidus members would recall, the Overseers come and go like shadows, very few would choose to linger here. But she was the most elusive of them all, with the flag being the sole mark of her existence. She had abandoned everything an Overseer might claim here—no belongings in her room, no unnecessary words. She did not belong here. The detached silence made her seemingly neglectable, yet whenever the thought that she might be dispensable to Fractsidus—or Fractsidus to her—the silent Lycoris would unexpectedly emerge from the darkness. Like a sharp bloom, she would pierce the heart of the enemy, fulfill her task, and vanish once more. Nothing here seemed to be of interest to her, and few knew why she had joined at all. There was only one place in the Fractsidus that could tether her steps. At times, she would stand on the upper levels of the laboratory, quietly observing the developments of human integration with the flesh and limbs of Tacet Discords, or the advancements of Overclocking technology. She watched the burning desires in the eyes of those who actively sought evolution, their struggles toward rebirth. Screams of success, laments of failure. As if she were seeing more than just them. At other times, she would appear like a phantom deep into the night, holding a lamp as she browsed the latest research results. Yet she never took a single page, as if everything ended in disappointment. Those who occasionally witnessed this scene would be left puzzled, wondering what exactly she was trying to accomplish. |
| Treading Through Woes | Phrolova | When life becomes infinite, what path should one take in this world? She had no answer. The unprecedented emptiness and vastness of existence left her at a loss. In response, she chose to close her eyes and let music speak for her—untamed notes spilling out her loneliness, her sorrow, her rage, careless of when or where they fell. The crazed genius had gained renown, yet remained as willful as ever. She outlasted every praise and insult, watching the same events and hearing the same comments repeat endlessly. Time after time, she faced loneliness, until finally she understood that seeking dependence was ultimately futile. Precious moments were often fleeting, and only those forced to stay continued to bear the pain. Gradually, her mind cleared. Then it hardened. She shut out the world, numb to all feeling. She walked alone, ignoring the crowd beneath the stage, blind to the world beyond. She did not change her name to disguise herself, caring little about people's speculations and questionings. Anyone could perceive her physical age, but few could guess the age of her soul. She would have wandered like a ghost without purpose forever, but what happened at that single performance offered her purpose. At her moment of realization, the unbearable time passed in an instant, as if her entire life had contracted. She desperately sought anything she had yet to comprehend, searching for any talents that would shine in the flow of time. If people believed she was their greatest hope, she would gladly satisfy their curiosity. Across countless eras, she subjected herself to experiments, enduring her own decomposition and rebirth. Pain made her feel anchored to reality, yet she could only approach the past through the gaps of pain. None of her attempts were too hard to bear, for pain would ultimately be forgotten. But why then did she feel the walls closing in? Why did her infinite path now feel like a tightening noose? Was this not the way forward? She reached out her fingers between the narrowing gaps, desperately searching for a way out. |
| The Perfect Gap | Phrolova | Ancient statues were especially valuable and difficult to procure due to the unique materials and exquisite craftsmanship that made them. Yet, the more cherished a treasure, the more likely it was to meet destruction. What seemed accidental often carried a hint of inevitability, as if the self-destructive tendencies of their owners sealed their fate. This statue fell from the top of the cabinet by accident someday, shattering into countless pieces that scattered across the floor. The era in which it was created had long passed, and now she was the only one who remembered its original form. Determined to restore it, she would set aside time to carefully glue the pieces back together. She started from the interior, reassembling tens of thousands of pieces based on the image of her memory. It was a task that required utmost concentration, and in those moments, her empty heart found calm and fulfillment. The world achieved perfect harmony as she worked. But when she slowed her pace, the world around her seemed to accelerate. Before she realized, she had restored most of the statue. It could now function and move as it used to. But this was far from enough. The beauty of its exterior was also an inseparable part of the statue. Every adjustment, every action had to follow her will to achieve perfection from the inside out. Victory seemed close yet distant at the same time. Every time she completed a section, another would fall under the weight of time. Cracks would always exist. She kept on working, putting each fallen piece back where it belonged time and again. The more anxious she became and yearned for the final result, the more the pieces seemed to scatter. For too long she had stared at the statue, and the countless cracks on its surface began to resemble countless smiles, mocking her pursuit of perfection. They reminded her that the gap between fantasy and reality would forever exist, that she was only struggling with endless futility. For too long she had stared at the statue, that the cracks began to serve as a reminder that there was much to be done. This imperfection was already part of the statue. The cracks beyond perfection had, at some point, become the perfect gaps. |
| Afterlife and Beyond | Phrolova | She looked up towards the sky. It was blue. But she remembered it being dark red. She climbed over the fence on a search, as voices echoed around her, holding her back. "You had a bad dream," they said. So it was all just a dream... Like the fleeting clouds above, her white dress drifted across the grassland towards town. The sun rose as usual, and the town repeated the same chimney smokes and laughter day after day... Day after day, the ordinariness sank into her, and so did this feeling of stagnation. Her music no longer progressed, and people's thoughts no longer adapted to change. Day after day... How long had it been since anyone ventured beyond the edges of town? Where did the food come from? How did they manage an endless supply of daily necessities? These were the questions she pondered as she walked further into the distance. Coming up on the town's edge, she saw a red figure standing before the hazy mist. It had waited for a long time as if anticipating her arrival. Her intuition told her to stay away, but for some reason she reached out to place her hand in its palm, only to grasp a handful of blood. The sky was indeed dark red. She was but a dilapidated body with only one eye, covered in bright red flowers, unable to struggle or move. Why wasn't she dead? She gazed at the ashen sky, her hand involuntarily trying to grab the muddy red earth. Within her limited vision, her long-disappeared fingers slowly reappeared. The deaths of others cradled her rebirth, their residual Reverberations condensing in her right eye. It wasn't until she found the courage to leave the town and face reality that the "Beyond" enveloping her retreated deep into her heart. Red flowers trembled and fell, revealing new skin beneath. The echoes of laughter had not yet faded. She had indeed had a very long dream, a beautiful dream granted by the "Beyond." But who is it to say dreams cannot become reality? She looked up. The sky was truly blue now. The endless stagnation and the dream-shattering mist were no more. This was a new "Beyond" she had tirelessly recreated, identical to the one they had placed in her heart. People still called her name. And this time, she would surely embrace the real ones. |
 A Record of Failure | Yangyang: Xuanling | Three days had passed since she told her mother of her ambition. That evening, an extra pair of chopsticks sat on the family's table. "I hear your child wants to join the military? Which one is it?" Over after-dinner talk, the guest sipped her tea and put the question to her parents. "Mm... clear eyes, a pure heart. The sort who can endure hardship." The guest studied that still-childish face and smiled. "Seems you have some grounding already. Where did you learn it? A training hall? They teach no true craft there. If you want to take the field against an enemy, what they teach is not enough." "Come, show me what you've learned so far." The guest rose and stepped down into the courtyard. "I can't enjoy your mother's cooking for free." "All right." With her parents' nod, she drew out the wooden sword she used for daily practice, came before the guest, and took her stance. Who the guest was, she didn't know, only that she was a friend of her parents. But sharp as she was, Yangyang understood why the woman had come to dinner that night, and why she'd offered to test her. Her parents stood behind her wish, but they would have her see, too, how many trials still lay between her and its fulfillment. She threw herself at her first trial, like a fledgling beating its wings for the first time, reaching for the open sky. ... "Good spirit. A shame your talent is ordinary, nothing like those one-in-ten-thousand prodigies. On the path of the martial arts, you could give your whole life and still never reach the end." The instant she sank to the ground, she felt as though she'd returned to her very first day at the training hall. Knowing nothing. Lost and adrift. "Your mother's spoken to me of your other gifts. Take up her craft instead, and I have no doubt you would surpass her in no time." The guest picked up the wooden sword she'd dropped. "Even so, do you still want to keep on?" She nodded, reached out, and gripped the hilt held out to her. ... After that, every dozen days or so the guest would call at Yangyang's home, and never left without offering Yangyang a pointer or two, now of swordplay, now of strategy. She wouldn't let Yangyang call her "Master," insisting she was only a guest cadging meals, driven by some strange whim to tutor a friend's child. "If I may ask... when will I know that I'm ready?" "Hmm... let's do it this way." The next morning, a wooden post stood in Yangyang's yard. Black-gray through and through, its surface hard as iron. Even a real blade would struggle to leave a mark. The guest took up Yangyang's wooden sword and swung it lightly. A fierce gust passed, and the blade had bitten three inches deep. She pointed to the deep gash. "When you can do the same without your Resonance Ability, you'll be ready." ... The seasons fled. Two years went by. The girl's face had shed its childhood softness, and the post bore cuts beyond counting, deep and shallow alike. She held her breath and squared her stance. The flash of the blade was like wind, lifting a carpet of leaves from the ground. "..." The stroke, freighted with two years of perseverance, sank scarcely a tenth of an inch past the surface. Today was the day she'd agreed with her parents to leave home for Jinzhou. She hadn't met the mark her "Master" had set before setting out, but set out she did. She bowed deeply to the post and left the wooden sword behind in the courtyard. After farewells to her parents and sister, she walked past Mingting's walls. Just as she was about to pass the first checkpoint, she caught sight of a figure in the distance. "Forgive, Master. I failed." "And what if I told you that you might never do it, not in a lifetime of trying?" "Then I think... I'd grieve a little while." "But that would not stop you, would it?" "No." "Good." The "Master" patted her head and turned away toward the city. "Know that this world holds things you'll never be able to do, and then..." "...walk on, all the way." |
| A Record of Beginnings | Yangyang: Xuanling | The walk from Mingting to Jinzhou cost her a long, long time, long enough to feel like a lifetime apart, long enough that everything she witnessed and endured along the way could shatter everything she'd thought she had built within herself. She once believed she had glimpsed the "truth." She once believed she knew, clear as day, for whom her sword should be raised. That she could weigh "right" against "wrong," tell "good" from "evil." That a measure lived in her heart. But the more places she walked, the more she found that measure could not be taken to everything in the world. Some held pure goodwill at the start of their paths, yet had everything ended in tragedy. Some were steeped in sin, yet sheltered the happiness of others with that very evil. The world was too intricate, so intricate that a whole life might not be enough to fathom it. And then there came a time when she let go even of fathoming. It was in Yuezhou. A mother had begged her help in finding the child stolen from her. The ones who took the child were a local faction that worshipped an evil god, a pack of maniacs whose hands were drenched in sin, creatures no longer fit for the word "human." When she stormed their stronghold alongside the local Ministry of War, what met her eyes was the very definition of hell. In that moment, every thought burned away in her mind. All that was good and fair, she flung far behind her. ... It was only when the soldiers of the Ministry of War had finished clearing the field and clapped her shoulder that she realized it was over. She heard a faltering drip, falling from her the tip of her sword where it bit the earth. Unbinding her hair, she found the ribbon her mother had given her soaked in a red too stark to bear. She couldn't clearly recall what passed in that stretch of time. Had she taken a life? And if not this time, then so long as she walked this road, the day would come. She knew that if she would not face so plain a truth, her sword would hold no true strength. Still, the taste of it was bitter. Setting out again, she washed her ribbon clean of its stain, but not the gloom from her eyes. Even with that mother's heartfelt thanks, even having guarded the joy of the innocent, she couldn't return them a single honest smile. Carrying that broken heart, she came alone into Jinzhou, and stood at the heart of a square that looked out toward the City Hall. She knew where she ought to go next, but her feet felt cast in lead, and she could not bring herself to take that one step. ... "Hey—why're you standing here by yourself? Are you lost or something?" "I'm Chixia, a Jinzhou Patroller—well, 'trainee' Patroller. Anything I can help with, just say the word! Oh right, are you hungry? Listen, when you're in Jinzhou you have to try Panhua's Restaurant..." ...Until a frank, easy girl her own age struck up a word with her. Until that girl took her hand and pulled her off toward all that she hadn't had the chance to know. |
| A Record of Friendship | Yangyang: Xuanling | "Yangyang, this is Baizhi, a researcher from Huaxu Academy. During your evaluation, she'll be providing technical support while you look into the newly formed Tacet Field near Jinzhou." ... "Greetings. My name is Baizhi..." "—Yangyang! What's for lunch today? Auntie called us over to try a new dish she made. Oh, but those Wuthercakes we had together last time were..." "Pardon me, but the investigation begins this afternoon. I'm afraid there won't be time for the two of you to eat." "Even an army marches on food. Whatever it is, it can wait till after we've eaten... and, uh, who are you...?" "..." That day, when those verdant eyes met the flame-red pupils for the first time, the very same thought likely rose in both their minds at once: "There's no way I'll ever get along with this person." "Haha..." Two utterly different temperatures flanked her on either side, and yet, strangely, she felt neither awkward nor ill at ease. It was as if she had known all along this meeting would come; as if it was written that the three of them should come to know one another just this way. Tense as the air between them was, she thought, they were still looking at each other. "Well then. Let's buy something to take along and eat on the way." She clapped her hands lightly and offered a middle path. "Baizhi, fieldwork takes stamina too. You can't head out on an empty stomach." "Mm... a fair suggestion." "Then let's try that place that opened last week... No. Yangyang, you decide." That was the first time the three figures—blue, white, and red—walked side by side down the streets of Jinzhou. ... "Yangyang, this is a new remedy Huaxu has just developed. Take it to Chixia, would you? A dose of this and her cold will clear up in a day or two." "I can, of course. But Baizhi, won't you bring it to her yourself?" "Mm..." ... "Oh, Yangyang, Auntie Panhua fried up some dishes. Take them along. Isn't Baizhi working late tonight? These can be her midnight snack." "I can, sure... but Chixia, you could bring them to her yourself, you know." "Uh..." ... And so the days went by, one after another. No memories cut to the bone, no dramatic turns like something out of a play. Across countless days, plain as water, they came slowly to know one another, by ways direct and indirect. "Baizhi, about the investigation coming up... Chixia happens to know that terrain well, so I made a point of asking the Patrol Station to lend her to us for a while." "Ahem... for Yangyang's sake, that is. With me leading the way, nobody has to run all over the place, and the job goes quicker too..." "Understood..." Baizhi closed the file in her hands and shut her eyes a moment in thought. "So then..." "...What's for lunch today?" |
| A Record Sealed Away | Yangyang: Xuanling | "Ta-da! Yangyang, congratulations on becoming an Outrider! Baizhi and I picked this out together. Do you like it?" "You'll find yourself often roughing it in the wild being an Outrider, and your hair's a handful to manage. This hat should keep some of the wind and rain off. I think you'll find it quite practical." "None of that matters, not a bit. What matters is—Yangyang's going to look lovely wearing it, right?" "Thank you... Baizhi, Chixia." She took the gift from her friends' hands and put it on her head. And in that instant, she felt like reliving a scene from many years ago. ... "...What is it, Yangyang?" At a temple fair ablaze with lanterns, her sister noticed her halted before a stall, gazing spellbound at something on the shelves. "Ah, is it that hat you want? Mm... not bad at all! Look, look, it's even got a little bird stitched on it." "But it's so expensive..." She glanced at the price on the shelf, looked down at the coins clutched in her hand, and edged back a step. "Come on, sister. We said we'd go buy maltose candy together..." "Mm! Knew it'd look great!" Before she could even come to herself, the hat was already sitting on her head. "Sister...?! You can't just take what isn't yours..." She fluttered for a moment, then saw Suisui draw a pouch from who knows where and dangle it before her eyes. "Hehe. Yangyang, you've got no idea how deep your big sister's pockets run." Suisui grinned slyly, coins jingling in the pouch. "It's just one hat. To my little treasury, that's a drop in the bucket." "But that's money you worked so hard for..." "Oh, what's the harm!" Suisui caught her hand and pulled her off toward the livelier stalls. "I'm your big sister! What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine too, of course..." ... To her, from the very moment of her birth, having a "big sister" was simply something she took for granted. She took for granted the laughter and the roughhousing together. She took for granted the sharing of every little thing. She took for granted... her constant presence in each day of her life. Not until she made that decision did she realize she was about to bid farewell to everything she'd once taken for granted. If she didn't take that step, she could never become the "self" she longed to be. And if she did take it, every bond she knew and leaned on must be remade into something new. She sealed everything about her sister away in her home in Mingting. And one day, perhaps, when the time came to leave Jinzhou, she'd seal away everything in this place too? She didn't know. But she did know that... ...Right here, right now, the warmth coming down from atop her head was no different from all those years ago. She knew she was no longer the little girl who'd run after her sister through the temple fair. She knew her sister's next letter would arrive next month. |
| An Unsent Record | Yangyang: Xuanling | That encounter, that day... Was it chance? Or was it fate? When you first awoke, you had forgotten everything. Yet those golden eyes of yours tell me that what you carry, what you've lived through, may reach far beyond anything I can imagine. You always rush to the front of everyone without hesitation. You're always set on putting yourself at the eye of the storm. Is that a choice you make? Or has it already become instinct? You always... take a bigger step than the rest. And no matter how many once walked at your side, you always... end up where none of us can follow. But I don't believe there's any such thing as a soul fated to be alone. Maybe I only want to do this for my own sake. I just want to protect someone... well... someone who knows so little about protecting {Male=himself;Female=herself}. Though the time we shared may be, against the whole of your journey, no more than a single wave on a boundless sea. Still, this feeling, this impulse... It has nothing to do with worthiness or with time. It's simply my own... extravagant wish. I hope that, in joy or in sorrow, through fair days or foul, when you need someone to lean on, when you need someone to confide in, I can be standing at your side. I hope... ... Her pen tip came to a stop. She stared at the half-written letter, reading it over, silently, again and again. In the end, she folded the sheet, slipped it into an envelope, and tucked it away beneath her drawer. She drew out a fresh sheet and began to write again. Rover, how have you been lately? Is everything going well? |