Thunderbolts and elegies. - SevenFive - 崩坏：星穹铁道 (2024)

Thunderbolts and elegies.

She was born with the letters of pages as she grew in stories. Her blood and sweat flow with the ink of flowers. She is words and feathers. She’s camellias and lilies poured by a spring dream. Her bones lying on a branch between fallen leaves. We know her as floret, snatch of kisses.

Her mother love her, in a tenderness we can’t define – maybe that’s why she have a soft spot for daylight. Birds worship her steps, allowing her oddity to shine. We love her that dedicated way, abrupt manners and sparkling smiles. When you follow her proceeding in the shadow of the night, she fulfilled hearts without efforts. Especially her.

Her is an abstraction, born from thunder. Tears of essence rolling on her cheeks during the wrecking times.

But,
When the annihilation girl and the daughter of moon meet, time stop for an instant.

Yet it's not how thou shall see.
You'll see a girl dress in glass paper and a dream made of verses. A place where illusion and reality intertwined. I mean, wasn't this exactly what you were looking for when you came into this place?
You know the title of this miscellany, Thunderbolts and elegies.
What a good name for a glow of poetry,
Or, a star made to fall,
like you
[And all.]

*

In a foreign land, at the birth of a word destined to fall.

"Can you hear the gentle birdsong?" she says, her feet perched in the void, quiet though the valley in the distance remains. the meadow grass glistens in the twilight, summer is everlasting above this valle. After a thousand years of existence, this is where she made her home.

He followed her, even as he was afraid to fly as high as the other birds. Yet, he became a hero. He soared by her side, together they built an Empire destined to crumble.
Of the desolation, only ephemeral daisies lay. The moonlight fades on the wet petals. She loves to marvel at the ephemerality of these lands; the futile sounds, the fleeting thoughts, the brief breezes in her hair. Everything reminds her of a place she can no longer call home, a place that has yielded to stardust.

"Yes, of course, but I'm not sure what their songs mean," he said, his fingers tangled on a bouquet of forget-me-nots.

"Still, it was you who told me that story."

The stems twist, they reach back into the past.

"What story?"

"The one about the nameless called Frebass.”

A story of a distant day, the man's immaculate hair in a bloody veil, flames dancing on his icy flesh. He speaks softly, in a whisper in response to the wind. A woman made of roses emerges, her footsteps brightening fallen lands into cities of prosperity. Such is her beauty that people don't dare look too closely. He has no reluctance to step closer, his body prostrate after so much fighting.

"Once upon a time, in another world, a corruption destroyed everything: humans, animals, even gods. This corrupt evil was called 'Honkai'. When Honkai first appeared, no one knew anything about its origin. Hence the great fear people have of it. As civilizations fall and existence unravels, soldiers arise from the ashes. At the same time, on a long-lost planet whose name was the cause of its ruin, the sky brought forth a child. This girl was her father's honey, only for the storm to claim her mother. A gift in exchange for death."

"What a pitiful story", said the people of Izumo, afflicted by sorrow.

The desolated land was long ago the cradle of hope. Once the baby was born, everything began to change. Sky, clouds and rain became once. Despise of the changing, one thing remain : ode hiss by birds. At the morning, they were singing a poetic melody, made of a sharp sweetness. At night, words changed into whispers. Prophets once sent letters to the gods, asking them to catch the melody to entertain sleepwalkers. The sky divinities never sent an answer.

Although petals continued to grow on dead bodies. War rising was inevitable. People were looking forward for the girl who was, for an instant, the reason for their hopes. Mountain of red feathers and stars scars has appeared from the void. And again, they waited for her. They forged weapons and fight each others. Sentinels has risen. With them thunder stroke once more, taking with him the gray clouds, leaving behind a fierce storm. After the war there was nothing left of the glory of yesteryear. Even the girl who had grown up to become a samurai struggled to stand up straight. She stepped over the bodies of her brothers, shedding tears over the shattered fragments. She slumped on a bench to draw her blade close to her own chest. As her sword appeared in the harsh light of day - it remained, despite the arrows in the torn flesh and the cries of the orphaned children - she could see her own reflection. Her father, somewhere among this mass of stiffs, was waiting for her. With trembling hands, her broken weapon made its way to her heart. It's a pity no one was there to cut off her head at the same instant she was about to break her heart. Instead, she was led astray by the clarity of the sky, by the peaceful beauty of the clouds. In the eyes of the gods, life had to go on.

She had lost everything. As the sole survivor of such a disaster, how could she hold her head high? Her agony had no equal. Pain tore straight through every side of her. A deep wound beneath her hair bled down her face. The kimono - because she was a woman, no one had given her real armor - had been splashed by the discharge of swords, by rain, by hail, by dead leaves blown away by tornadoes. After a few steps, she would fall to her knees, unable to sit still while her brothers and sisters lay there. Nor did she shed a tear. How could she wallow in self-pity? She was standing, she had won. What god could defeat her now?

No one could.

She crawled on her elbows and reached the face of an infant, wrapped in a white shee, buried under a house of decay. She held him until he died. Then she closed her eyes, wrapped her palms around the hilt of her katana and waited. And a day later, she was still alive, the sweat pouring down her body, her flesh bearing the scent of death. Birds pecked at her face, crows licked the blood from her skull. She was alive. She wanted to curse the world, to cry out to the clouds to take her as they had destroyed everything.

But she couldn't, as she couldn't bring herself to take her own life. Something was waiting for her beyond the sea. She'd sleep another day, then another. By the fourth, her stomach growled with hunger - her lips cracked. She stood up. Everything was the same.

She was still alive.”
*

" I always get nostalgic at the beginning of this story, don't you, Kevin? It almost seems like it's about us."

"It's probably an inspiration, anyway."

"But...it still doesn't remind me why the birds are singing. is it just because, like her, they've decided to fight?"

"More or less. Most fake stories are meaningless. However, this one differs. In fact, it's not an invention. In a land once called Izumo, there was a samurai named Lethe. She knew the song of Meng Po and the counsel of Charon. Her fate was one of misery. Watch the dead of her family transcend her existence, die by their side or become a monster of nightmares."

"And we both know how difficult it is to choose between dying at the side of your loved ones or continuing to fight for their memories."

The marvelously lady smiles at him, one finger lifted to touch his cheek. To which he responds by raising his hand to snatch the stars she's trying to engrave in him. It's been a long time since he felt the sun's fire shining on his skin, so the coldness of the stars is even more foreign to him. This land is beautiful. It was built by resistance fighters, and will continue to grow with time. Down in the hamlet, people chat, exchange kisses and hugs, greet each other, say goodbye, grow and perish.

"Yes...She begged the gods who sent her to Izumo. Again and again, no one would answer. So Acheron decides to look for herself. She fled to another word and met a seemingly young girl, but in reality they were the same age, still young and pure. Together they studied, fought and discovered the mysteries of existence. The nameless girl was a charming person, her touch was truly a beautiful blessing."

Nobody knew it, but soon a flood would hit this village. Kevin looks down, then closes his eyes. Death is inevitable, the plants have budded from sacrifice. The pain is the same for him. Even after the storm.

"Acheron used to know with an inhuman perfection the exact sound of her footsteps and the clear appearance of her shadow. In the solitude of finality, she had encounter a lot of strangers but none of them were able to equal the endearment she feel for the young girl. In this painful cage in which she confined herself, there was obscurity, a bunch of it, in fact. That's how the nameless girl called the agony that filled Acheron."

He'd met a cool woman. Her words were sharp and hurried, as if something prevented her from lingering. He'd discovered the reason; an almost guilty delectation.
The flow of water continued below, carried by the song of the naiads. The fish glisten, burnt by the heat. The water is limpid, its color spared from pollution. He has seen worlds where the human species - or not; had succeeded in destroying the world in its entirety. Depending on the story, the culture, the language, the reasons varied. In the end, the result was the same.

Annihilation.

To a spiraling field of rubble and debris, stored on tombs as shrouds. Broken shards, once frozen tears. Like milestones along life's journey. The engravings of their souls and the testimony of their existences. For an entire era.
It was normal to notice similarities after so many years of existence, but... Her name, her face, her way of speaking...

Anyway.

"She also said that this affliction was a piece of life.
Humanity has to struggle, to face the burning pain of striving. Until they perceive a hint of misery, they will always remain a page of tragedy. Burned by the flames and rebuilt in the pain of sacrifice, the spectators will obtain the grace of existence.
And...
Because of their tribulation, they will be able to rise as Aeons."

"These stories of oblivion and tragedy give me chills. Why does everything always have to end in failure? It really breaks my heart" replies the woman painted in pink, her face set in a childish pout. In fact, from the viewer's point of view, it enhanced her innate elegance.

Kevin places his hands on his knees. He shook his head briefly before going on to tell the story.

"At this, Acheron preferred to stay silent. How could she accept the decay of her world? Even if the nameless girl insists it was for the greatest, she cannot understand.

Perhaps it was a difference of nature. Her friend was a radiant girl, her destiny on a par with the stars. She owned a galaxy all her own, thus was the faith of Terminus devotees. All the Aeons had their own way of treating their worshipers, but these people's was quite unique. It protected the Frontiers. It prevented its devotees from drifting into the black holes of nihility, or the abyss of elation. He wanted the world to be fair, to be like a train, constantly in pursuit of something new. Over time, people would become more accepting of difference. And…

At his final stop, the terminus of his line, humans would all be passengers of time. Everything begins with Finality and must end with Finality…

Destiny.
Stars.
Skies.
And scars.

The daughter of Toryo and her were different. Her dream was to discover something incredible, something Akivili cannot achieve. For Acheron, this journey was a dream. People used to ask the meaning of dream but like fake stories, dreams are meant to be forgotten. This rough reality can be considered as a part of the agony the Nameless girl talked so much of. She told Acheron so many things that make her question her origin. However, she refused to answer two specific questions :

“What’s your name ?”
And for the second one :
“How do you know so much about others worlds ?”

At her final destination, with her loyal compass in hand, the nameless girl had never looked so radiant. She wore a pair of dresses from Izumo and a straw hat that shaded her sweet cupid's bow. Because she knew it would be a journey of no return, she kissed her companion's cheek and waved a faint goodbye.

They both knew it. Acheron kept her fingers entwined with her for just one more second, one last moment of selfishness before she left her on the sailed boat.

Before she had time to question her attire, she lost her.
Not to death.
Nor the abyss.
It was from memories.

Humanity tend to forget things. And this Nameless girl was simply a passenger. Years after years, Acheron write her name in papers, with her blood, sweat and tears. A name meant to be forgotten.

She heard it from the first time in her grieving clothes. Migration was about to begin, birds were out of their nests, ravens feathers and beaks against raging winds. Fallen laments resonating in sea of cries. Mocking birds watched her go, her eyes filled with the same rage as the storm. She hardly fit in this close room they offered. Her heartbeats were too loud. Owl look for sadness but only found despise. In the remaining of her broken horns, they search for warmth. She stands, her arms crossed on her chest, eyes closes, lips too – nobody to talk with now. She was on the planet of Orkron which fate was to be destroyed.

The Name of the Nameless was a secret kept in a jewel case. Like a trophy, it reveal itself at the moment Acheron save Orkron. But, she decided to change destiny and for that, nihility hate her to the bones. IX, god of annihilation, different from Nanook, not only they want the planet to sink but his people to forsake desolated binding. Isn’t it the goal of nihility at the end ?

“Wait. Nihility isn’t Finality” interrupt the girl in pink, “What do you mean by that ? Do you play with me again ? Isn’t that a bit shameful ?”

“Elysia, stop interrupting me or i will never finish the story”, retorts Kevin.

“It’s really bad to let a pretty girl wait so long.”

“Well, nobody asked you to listen.”

“Okay, okay, what happen next ?”

“Acheron discover the secret of Okron. On the pursue of her fallen friends, she saw IX’s outlines, a parallel born from the longing of the Nameless girl. Without oxygen, the girl derive from her destination to a strange place. This dangerous trip conducted to her death and even if Acheron have the knowing of her finality, she never tried to stop her. She had already see the determination in people’s eyes. When Honkai left nothing but crumbs, when the only way is to die, hope remain, shining with a hollow light.

The Nameless was human, and as she continually remain to say, affliction was a part of life. IX affirmed the contrary : existence was nothing, a cycle of tragedy, suffering and endless pain. So, they annihilated her memories and her feelings, transforming her into a puppet. She became unable to distinguish pleasure and torment. Her body served as a trunk, trow into a desolation pit, impaled by ten thousand swords. Acheron inflicted her the last blow, a precious blade forged and sharpen from god’s corpses. Under the constellation of crimson scars, she felt her friend’s heart falling.

"I’m happy" she whispered, "I had met you again"

Poets will write them in tragedy but only Frebass know that this was their beginning. Even if they killed her 45,873,632,010 times, she will continue to fight. If her struggle is to be a sin, it must be as fleeting as a dream.

- Oh my...Is this the end ? Kevin, please tell me this isn’t ! Who is Frebass ? Do they meet again after her death ? And, oh, do she love her ? I’m sure this is what you mean !

- I’m exhausted. I’m leaving, say Kevin without anything more.

- Hey ! Wait ! What’s with that number ? It’s a long one, I’m sure this is important !

*

In the decade of a crumbling world, the soul chose by the Imaginary Tree has grew. She was a girl who love nature as a whole. Leaves, animals, insects and humanity. She also know that humanity was made to fall in the abyssal sea.

Elegies dances on her fingers like earnest poetry. Sure, she appealed to love dancing, brushes skies with her treachery smile. Her idleness consist of thus thing, can on a hand, going on a long walk, butterflies as partner. Their fragility in a comfortable nest, just as the thought of her messy hair, intertwined on her snow white locks. She give them a touch a purity, hands skimming against their wings.

Lying on the warmth grass of summer, listening to birds hummer, she feel something touch her. She rather close her eyes to appreciate June rise but as she discern the touch hastening, she understand that it must be important. Who could it be ? Perhaps, it is her friends - no she doesn't have one, nor family, she only desire to slumber. She has grew in a cold flowers, in the despise of heat. Recently, comers visit her. She always offered them flowers, smiling like it's the most logical thing to do.

Yet, her stillness and silence doesn't remain. She's a palimpsest in the wait of it chains. Her existence is an endless rush, she want to comprehend the stain of humanity in her blood. For that reason, the tree let her go on a pilgrimage.

"It will be a long way, you'll encounter a lot of hardships and you'll miss this home in your bones as the poets tell you the day of your birth. But, in the finality of your existence, you must understand the price of sloth. You are pieces and stained leaves, you'll need time to abstain yourself. If you're able to fight this distress, then your trip will not be in vain. So, now go on, my daughter, may the wind take you as a mundane traveler"

Vagrant mankind, her body flight, arms spread. She thought of Icarus fall’s. Later, she’ll certainly make planets spin of a planetary, the entirety of this world between her slim fingers. In this moment of remissness, she return to this stage of death, flesh cold, blood made of wrath.

Willows appeared from shadows, daylight hiding under theirs pendulant branches. Fierce as always, she jump on one and yell her prayers. . Her cloak flutters as the fallen hero's wings. She throws her head back, her cross earrings tinkling against her earlobes. The ring on her forefinger brushes the way to her nose and lands on her breast, where her heart pounds. Hair waterfall over her face and onto her shoulders as she sways on the branch. She grips her gilt pendant between her teeth, a muted laugh on her lips that hatch into a smile. She screamed aloud, gulping almost to the point of drool. She tells them to pray to the tree goddess and breaks into laughter. The world turns upside down, and she along with it. She collapses to the ground, her limbs in a tangle. She catches a sudden glimpse of a crimson radiance that appears in an ephemeral instant in the center of the black darkness.

"What a day to be alive", she ponder, as birds come to kiss her shoulders.

In a blink, she became aware of the presence of a stranger. This person may not have notice her - lying on the floor, eyes closed, mouth half-open to spit out a bloody splat. Covered in filth, the stranger's cheeks have taken on the hue of disease while her fleshy lips are splattered with crimson. She gasps, her lungs unable to inhale the ambient air. Her blood- and mud-stained hair are tangled around her face.

After rushing to her rescue, the resident of this hamlet sweeps back the dark strands to catch a glimpse of a dazzling shimmer. Two dark jewels flutter with the coldness of a pale violet moon. Butterflies emerge from the sparks at the tree daughter's fingertips. They flee into the darkness and race off in search of help.

"Are you all right?" she hastens to ask the injured person.

The stranger pushes away her touch with a sudden gesture. Her eyes closed, she clenches her teeth to repress a groan of pain. Her bloody hands leave an imprint on the other woman's immaculate clothes. A hint of red penetrates her subconscious. She mumbles incomprehensible words, then staggers backwards.

"Hey! Hey, don't move! You might aggravate your wounds!"

"Where..." she somehow manages to articulate, "Where... are we...?"

"Near the Capital, are you a fellow traveler?"

"I...Why... You're acting so childish...in the middle of... nowhere..." replies the stranger despite a genuine answer.

Her eyelids flutter a few times as her hand quivers against her savior's. Lips are marked by thirst. The daughter of the tree tighten her fingers in fear that she'll faint.

"Don't die on me, o-okay?" she mutters.

By way of reply, the girl beneath her grip twists her head in her direction. Despite the injuries, she hides her weakness. Her clenched teeth crunch and in an attempt to restrain her suffering, she forcefully bites her lower lip.

"Where...The Capital?"

The concern of the other woman grows at the extent of her wounds. Blood spills under her sleeves and floods their joined fingers. Now even her mouth is stained red.

"You want to go there? I'll take you there, but first let me help you!"

The stranger shakes her valid hand toward the other side of the woods.

"No...My horse…"

"There is no more horse. I'm sorry, mate, but you're not going anywhere in this state!" replied the tree maiden, leaping to her feet with a firm grip, "I'd never leave a pretty girl in danger."

"I'm not...Lost"

"Whatever! 'Lost' or not, vagabonds come and go, no big deal" back she counters, hands trembling in the wind.

The stranger stares at her as much as she can, noticing the slight tremor. So she clenches her fingers, in a vain struggle to stay awake. Her gaze meets that of the white-haired girl, a warm feeling buried in her heart.

After a breath, she starts coughing again.

Blood trickles down her chin and stains her rags. An icy chill bites her wrists and rises to her phalanges. Her face betrays her worry. She gasps a second time, her fingers raised to the face of the girl carrying her. A solitary tear rolls down her cheek, imprinting it with sadness.

"Have we... have we met before?"

It's the first time her savior is at a loss for words. She took a few steps before lowering her eyes to give her an answer. However, she has already fainted and doesn't hear her cryptic reply. As she collapses, she takes the rain and clouds with her. Lightning rumbles in, the tree girl's footsteps become hurried. Her grip rips the emptiness from the icy flesh and begs it to rekindle. The sparks that she used to animate the butterflies rain down on the stranger's closed eyelashes and cradle her. She can't be saved, she's a doomed shipwreck. And although the other woman understands this as well as you and I do, the story goes on.

Prose left at her lips, she look like a withered flower. As the tree daughter cherished nature, she take her to the lake, settle of shadow, given to human after gods war. Face washed, tears and blood dissipated, she decide to take the stranger to her house.

*

She then left her starved and headed out in search of food.
At twilight, one day later, she regrets her quest. Empty-handed, she mumbles to herself.

" Have i search here already ? Uh...I dunno anymore, maybe i was the other way…"

"What are you doing ?"

She looks behind the willow. At the end of the lake, the stranger stands with her arms crossed. Her hair tangled messily. This hamlet rarely welcomed such beauty. It wasn't that the solitary soul didn't possess breathtaking splendor herself, contemplating her own reflection didn't overwhelm her like this. Umbrella up - out from who knows where, she looked like a piece of a painting cut out. For the first time, the only girl in the tree wanted to be seen. To be recognized. This place was her home, and to see someone else treading on her land made her feel she had to act. She stood still, however, unable to articulate the words that lingered at the tips of her dry lips. When she finally speak, free of her unnamed burden, her voice trembled with tenderness and terror, her startle still at the nape of her neck.

"Hey! Why are you awake, you must sleep to be strong again !", she says with fondness "You really...give me chills tho"

"Sorry. I guess", respond the stranger in haste, "For...That and...Yesterday too"

"That's nothing ! As i said, you're welcome here and if you need help to reach Capital, i'll help you."

"Don't be stubborn", the beautiful warrior drive over the house of trees and extirpate a peach from her pocket, "You are in a pitiful state"

"I'm not", says the Nameless soul, hesitating before realizing that she must have some sense of shame left, "I can't accept it. What if you needed it tomorrow ? Ever since i first looked upon you, it was obvious that you need some help"

"I don't much care about food. I own a fair amount of money at home. You can take it as a present for you're assistance."

"Really ? 'Kay, I will not let a piece of it!"

Without a backward glance, she eats the peach in one gulp. The stranger regards her with a touch of amusem*nt. She must really have been starving after all. Immediately afterwards, she looks refreshed, her cheeks tinged with vivacity. She leans towards the wanderer and tries to see her reaction. So far, she's remained impassive. For some reason, this provokes a spark of obstinacy in the nameless soul. As men and women pass through these woods, she counts each one and inscribes their face in her memory. This girl claims to have crossed paths with her earlier, but she doesn't recognize this dandelion. Pieces of memory clutter her thoughts as her eyes blur. The stranger places her hand on her shoulder, her fingers hovering cautiously over her skin, refusing to touch.

She feels alive.

She looks at her and oh, the way she admires her blooming youth makes her feel like she's drifting through the void. The drums echo in her ears, it's the beat of her heart, trapped in her rib cage. It rests on a cloud of passion, enmeshed in lyricism. She jolts, no, she blazes, wishing she could disappear like a star about to fade. Why, do you wonder? This infertile earth has become paradise, and her heart the abode of a seraph.
She sweeps the features of her face, wipes her gaze with a shiver.

The foreigner lifts an eyebrow, startled by her recoil. Something resonates inside her. An old promise, shattered and unkept. She prefers to dismiss it. The silken hair in front of her is unlike the one she once knew, likewise these sparse features.

A bell tolls and they both cast their eyes to the West. The rogue knows straight away and rushes to grab her new friend's hand to show her the way. They trundle through a forest of willows and over berry bushes, the light of the high Moon guiding their path. Sorb, yew and charcoal intertwined, dancing with the wind on the verge of ceasing. On this wander, the outlander ponders the loveliness of these lands, gloom tarnishing the delight she was meant to feel . There's no guarantee that she'll ever again be able to long for the variegated colors of the fallen leaves or the hints of snow, just as she has failed to seize the opportunity to ink moments of happiness in her mind in the wild past.

Bamboo hat, cape, bandages, sparkling blue eyes, with a hint of sorrow. All that's left to remember. The remnant erased in the naughtiness of her person. They arrive at a building covered in brambles. Nature having reclaimed its rights, leaves clutter the door and the handle turns with a thunderous creak. Inside, the dim light leaves no opportunity to admire the abandoned altar. Accustomed to taking refuge here, she gives an embarrassed laugh at the broken window she tends to use. The stranger says nothing. At the sight of the altar, however, she understands why they've come.

"What god do you pray to?"

"The tree Goddess," replies the white-haired girl, kneeling before the altar. She now displays an earnestness that's unshaken, her face tarnished by faith. “You can pray too, if you want.”

“I’m not a devotee”

“I know. That’s why I asked”

Outside, strings fall from the sky, coupled with crackling of rumble. The marble pavement catches the streak of lightning in the subdued sky. Thunder bursts beneath cloud cluster. Droplets flutter on tiles, imprinting the sigh of a wistful piano lullaby. The girl whispered her prayers and the traveler swallowed her breath, unable to deny the yearning to hear her voice. The autumn leaves drift across the windows, kissing the grime stained on the glass. The road is silent, gods hearken. Despite great age, the gold glinted, and with her crux in hand, the young damsel marveled at the goddess's idol. After a fleeting glimpse, she draws breath again. The empty benches and split slabs turned away from her. A multitude of shades paint the picture below as she gazes up at the mosaic. The scene portrays a cruise, the tree goddess adorned in a dazzling sheath of silk , rhinestone in her dull hairs. Disciples trail beside her, stripped of armor on a battlefield that once hailed her dawn. Crimson shimmers in their footsteps while they recall the fallen who once danced in this necropolis. The second part brings her to the fore. Barefoot, shackles at her wrists, her knees pressed against her chest. She mourns without tears.

The Earth delights and cherishes peace.
The finality meets its origin, far from its kind.

"What's her name?"

The girl steps away from the altar, a shiver running through her. She approaches the stranger and holds out her hand, palm lifted, revealing her scattered lifelines .

"Kiana," she says in a subdued voice, her eyebrows bowed at the expression she gets in response, "What's with that scowl? Isn't that a pretty name?"

The wanderer reluctantly comments, "It's nothing like I've expected, that's all."

"What did you expect?"

"During my travels, I've heard countless rumors. I've...forgotten why I came here. However, I do quite remember hearing one particular hearsay. The world-tree is said to welcome strays in grace, to embrace their bodies and grant them a blessed dwelling. It's not a resentful deity, and it never pleads to be heard. His devotees are people of belief, devoid of bias. The only things they crave is to see their idol shine. "

"Isn't that what this mosaic is all about?"

"It represents a pilgrimage, the sojourn of worshipers for the purpose of treasuring their faith."
"Pilgrimage is neither a source of anguish nor a penitence" replies the devotee, "People may have their own convictions, that's the purpose of this place: to believe or not to believe is a matter of identity".

The traveler is aware of the other woman's statements, though she remains unable to come to terms with them.

"From the world from which I come, we bowed before the Kamis: gods of many powers. The Emperor symbolized their prosperity; they enthroned themselves before the people and swore to govern as their equal. Up in the sky, we could see an impressive black sun, as a symbol of precisely the kind of fear they wished to inspire in us. The Yaoyorozu no kami, leaders chosen by the celestial might, stepped into our midst to vanquish the human race. Were all our prayers in vain? How could we have become victims of this doom? Many wondered. Eventually, warriors' factions emerged to challenge the mighty's reign. So it was... As I remember the gods and their dominance. Thus, upon first encounter in these out lands, I was surprised to perceive such goodness".

"I'm truly sorry"

“For what? Their deaths weren't the guilt of your goddess or the living of this world. Destiny has cursed us, it is such a thing cannot be unveil. We have long fought and died for our beliefs, my losses are of no vain unlike the prayers we have dedicated to these gods. I still do not believe that this goddess is the same: such a faith must be worthy of respect. We believed in second chances. So, I weep for the departed, In hope of their reincarnation.

“Mmh...Yeah, you’re right”, a shaft of dark shallow her enchanting smile, “You told me about your past life, but what about your name ?”

“Acheron”, merely a borrowed name. "You know my nature, remember my deeds...Thus, I am Acheron"

A spark flickers out of its scabbard, its sword flickers before being positioned out of the way. His eyes are dark and melancholy. She walks past the shadow of her memory. Memories must be forgotten. She bows her head and bears witness to her oblivion. The tree girl interlaces her fingers. Her touch is redemption. A lifeline in the void. Where heroes have died with the ideal of Icarus. And suddenly, she remembers. Thoughts flow backwards, refusing annihilation. She holds on to this sensation. Her whole body rejects her, goose bumps rise up her arms, her stomach churns, nausea sets in. She resists. In the darkness, the empty seats and the rain to lament her grief.

"I'm Kiana. Pleased to meet you."
Birds aren't born to sing. They can barely breathe without suffocating. Their wings tangle in streaks of blood. Still, they try to fly. Higher and higher.

"Just...like your goddess"

Kiana nods with a touch of timidity.

Acheron feels a painful urge, almost unbearable, to lift her hand and pat her head. Kiana tilts her head slightly, just as she'd hoped. But nothing happens. In the whir of thunder, she listens to her heart struggle as well. She wants to celebrate this moment as a brand new beginning. Unfortunately, that's not the case.

Kiana and Acheron have never met.

Izumo yearned for a second life.

She wished she could cross paths with the damned again. As a prisoner, she dreamed of the sound of the waves, of twilight shimmering on the eyes of passers-by, of their tanned skins and the shrieking voices of children, similar to those of seagulls.

The daughter of the tree, namesake of her goddess, enjoyed an idle life. She used her thin fingers to braid grasses, and lived on her wellspring's water and her thirst for adventure. She embodied the freedom of those seagulls, torn from their homes to become sovereigns.

Kiana is daylight
Yet, Acheron is midnight rain.
They couldn't be crossed. - Like souls doomed by the stars.

"You asked me if…"

They were obviously thinking of the same thing.

"It was a mistake."

"Are you sure? Not many people look like me, you know? This are genuine white hair!"

Acheron has no idea of how to respond to these. Still, Kiana is undaunted and tugs at a lock of her hair, "I was born just like this. These travelers are smiling as they pass by, yet, when their eyes fall on me, suddenly they all feel pitiful. Look, no illness, all right?

"Uh, okay...?"

"Anyway, we should get back. I'm starving!", Kiana cries out as her stomach growls with distress, " I have a garden behind my place, it's a bit...Er, well, you'll see."

"Why didn't you grab something from there when you were looking for food?" asks Acheron before realizing that might be rude, "Although I appreciate the effort"

" To be honest, I was a bit distracted" she explains, "I'm not used to running into pretty girls in the middle of a forest".

"Ah," Acheron blurts - her gaze lost on the pouring rain - "you should take this."

She offers her umbrella, half-turned away from her stare. Kiana keeps looking at her injured knuckles. Despite Kiana's care, the bandages have begun to shred. The wounds keep bleeding. Acheron who has remained rather stolid all this time hardly bothers.

"I'm terrible," mumbles Kiana, her face buried in her hands, "Acheron! Why didn't you tell me you were unwell? I spent all that time praying, and left you like that!"

"It's nothing. I don't feel pain, don't worry about it."

"Don't talk nonsense! I'm the one supposed to be a knight, if you're a princess in anguish how could I leave you unprotected?"

" Who insinuated that I am a damsel in distress?"

"It makes perfect sense," Kiana proclaims, her head high, her eyes as sparkling as two sapphires, "You were wandering all alone when I found you. You collapsed and I nursed ya dearly. It's just like in the stories!"

Acheron feels a slight hint of astonishment. She almost lets out a laugh, holding back at the last moment. She often wondered why loners persisted in moving towards the light in spite of the bleakness of this world. If the purpose of light was an ocean of darkness, where could she take refuge?

Perhaps such moments are what they live for.

Moments she refuses to allow herself, claiming she's a warrior.

"I cannot be a princess," she denies.

"You are."

"I've fought on countless battlefields and have encountered quite a few generals."

"No matter. Now you're my princess. "

Insistence makes her lift her chin and meet with Kiana's eyes. They challenge each other and eventually her lips quiver. How pitiful.

Their shoulders meet, Kiana's back to her, just as they would be on a necropolis. Fingers in the air, the white-haired girl imitates a rifle with the tip of her index and middle fingers. After a burst of laughter, she moves towards the front door and waves for Acheron to come.

"Come on, I'll make you some peach pudding, it's the only thing I don't burn."

"Huh…"

Before she could think of a way to refuse, Kiana dragged her out into the raging rain. The umbrella is left on the church floor, a lasting reminder of their coming for the next traveler.

Kiana's modest residence is three days' ride from the capital. As a result, this hamlet is far from wealth and shops. The locals depend on the fruits of their own labor for sustenance and security. The only way to reach the resident's cottages is to pass through a forest of wolves. Owls whistle and beasts lurk in the shadows. An old man begs at the entrance to the woods, an empty jug in hand. Kiana used to give him fresh water drawn from the river in the eastern part of the village. Today, she's neglected to do so, and the man keeps staring at her. She's thinking of dodging him, to avoid Acheron from discovering just how absent-minded she can be. Under this downpour, she is unable to resign to the thought of abandoning him and drops her companion's tightly squeezed hand.

"I've got to do something," she hands her the umbrella and takes a dozen steps away, "Wait for me here, okay?".

Acheron marvels at the line of trees spread across her path. The greatest number are weeping willows, brothers of the one that greeted her last day. She rarely dwells on trivial details, forced to wait for Kiana, she falls into a state of reflection upon nature. She has trouble recalling her own land. It used to rain for days on end, and to commemorate this memory, she still owns a split mirror she had used to stain her lips. Below her, she caught sight of Kiana's silhouette, soothed by the glow of torches hung from the mossy tree trunks. Various colors are intermingled on the backs of this group of pioneers. Their spine may be brown, but it extends to a myriad of other surfaces. And while pieces of some of them are gradually removed, their structures remain haughty.

A question echoes, between the diluted sound of a flute and the rustle of leaves on a bush's bare ankles.

"How many storms did you experience as a child?"

The roll of thunder pretends to answer her. She senses a deep attachment to this indomitable ardor. In that bygone past, those days and nights when the strings of heaven fell elegiacly on Izumo, where she used to confuse the white of the clouds with the lightning of the storm. Trees danced over the plains, their tops waving, arms and fingers twitching to the rhythm of the zephyr. Fog was obscuring the street seen from the bedroom window. The rumblings choked her slumbering consciousness. She quivered, her sweaty hands gripping her mother's kimono. Then came the goose bumps, the exhilarating dread of the disrupted night, the boredom of children's hands waiting on the glasses, the fine weather. The drizzle became rage and lament, infallible divine sorrow. For whom did the lightning strike? Whose tears were those vast laments?

She made her way up the stairs, feverish and reckless, and opened the nearest window. The shutters slid gently, almost inaudibly, in a noise nobody else could hear, except her. The bewildered sky could perceive her. Her curiosity was answered by a frivolous sparkle. The fleeting nature of the storm was a source of compassion for her. Her life was destined to be forgotten and replaced by countless others. Little did she know that her own would take a completely different path, unwilling to stand on the edge of death.
The electrified atmosphere was fading, the thunderstorm abated, drops of rain flowing over the joints of the roof. Her heart pounded and she gasped unclear words as she returned to her room. Her mother found her frozen, as if her life had been taken away. Yet terror burned in her heart, and with it, a hint of elation.

She opens her eyes, and sees Kiana knelt in front of a pair of children, one a young girl, the other her older brother. Hands on hips, the boy speaks in a choppy, dread-filled manner. In the dim light of the torches, their faces bear the stigma of both mental and physical exhaustion. Mud and blood comb through them. For such young children, life should be a pleasure. At least, that's how Acheron used to conceive childhood.

Kiana grabs an apple from under her black cape and hands it to the girl. Her face lights up before she reaches for her brother's hand, clearly terrified. Kiana tilts her head, puzzled. Then Acheron senses a rustle in the distance before the incoming wave of the storm. Thunder it is not, quite the opposite; per se. When Acheron turns around, her suspicion becomes reality. A beast lies ahead, jaw open miles beyond the willows. Nearby, Acheron looks like an odd stain on a painting.

The creature waits, and so does Acheron. With a few steps, it could crush and destroy her. Its slobber flows across the damp grass, while its invisible eyes hunt for the ranger's. Its skin is smeared with scarlet. . Under her yoke, the clouds tarnished and the black sun reignited. Her ebony mane bows, two horns with golden reflections emerge. The former Samurai is struck by the Bushi armor flamboyant on the dragon's spine. Instead of frightening her, the dragon reminds her of the gods of her homeland. The creature doesn't breathe, doesn't try to break her - all her paws manage is a stoop to offer herself to Acheron.

"Wow, wow, wow, Kurikara calm down, she's a friend, okay?"

"Do you know this wyvern?" inquires Acheron, pushed at once behind Kiana's body.

"'Course I do. She's the protector of our village but she tends to attack strangers, yet she sleeps most of the year - so that's a secret between the rest of us."

"She doesn't seem dangerous to me"

"Strangely, she doesn't seem to consider you a danger. maybe she caught my scent on you, who knows?" said Kiana, looking rather charming, " You can pet her, come on!"

With that smirk on her face, how could Acheron object? She grins and extends her hand towards Kurikara. Straight away, the wyvern gives a low sound in contrast to the one she made upon her arrival. Kurikara's body softens as the ranger's hand passes over her scales. One of them bears a scar that intrigues Acheron. A blade mark, similar to a katana's strike.

"Is she injured?"

"Not as far as I know. These wounds are from when she wandered among the lands. She came along right when I did, two years ago."

"Two years ago? I thought you were barely eighteen."

"No, no, absolutely not. I'm nearly twenty-five, are you?" said Kiana, her eyebrows furrowed.

"I don't even know my date of birth, at least as far as I can remember, my last birthday before the war was on my seventeen. Since then I've wandered for many days, about ten years if I believe what travelers told me. However, the date and time system changes greatly on different worlds so...I can't be 100% sure

"Twenty-seven. You're two years older than me...Does that mean I should call you...Acheron-senpai?"

A bolt of lightning split the sky. Kurikara lets out a growl. Acheron's expression shifts little by little, from cold-blooded to bewilderment. The fulguration rises among the veiled clouds and floods the silent wood. The whistle of the flute breaks into murmurs, the children who were passing by have fled and only the two women and the scarlet wyvern remain. Kiana takes her hand and guides her home by the tips of her fingers. Acheron remains stunned, numb by a distant memory.

Where did she ever hear anyone refer to her that way? She suspects it was a long time ago, perhaps even in another life, and part of her yearns for it to be just an illusion. She has forgotten so much; she has been self-annihilating for years. And yet, voices echoes between the shattered pieces of her consciousness.

"Look! The air in Orkron smells like raspberries."

(A moment of silence, fleeting life and sorrow intertwined)

"I never thought I would meet anyone similar to me. You've walked so much further on this road than me.
Therefore, you will surely walk with me till then end, right?"
"Of course. Our end has already been determined... However, just like you said —
Even though I may turn into a shallow puddle of dead water in the end, there is still a lot I can do on my journey toward that moment. Therefore, no matter what, I have to go try it—
— Because I will walk on a road deeper and further than Akivili's!"

"'Peach pudding' is my specialty! Do you dislike it? You haven't touched a slice since earlier."

"I love peaches and I love their flavor... I trust in their unalterable sweetness. It contains all the joys of life".

"Really? I wouldn't have said as much but uh...What do you think of crepes and creme brulées? I don't know how to cook them, but if I find any in town, I could bring you some!"

"That's...fine."

"Oh, right, peaches then!" exclaims Kiana, running to fetch more peaches from the back of the kitchen, "Here, treat yourself."

Now that she realized it, Acheron didn't take the time to observe the area. A series of cracks join the brick slabs together. Beyond her, she glimpses a bay window that leads to a garden. Four rows of earth have been ploughed to host tomato and strawberry plants. In this stormy weather, the plants have begun to wilt. At the sight, Kiana bites her lower lip.
"Rah, why does it always end up like this?!" she asked.

Acheron grins.

"Why don't you try installing a greenhouse?"

"Oh. You are so wise! Why didn't I think of that before? Well, now I'd need the money and um...Acheron-senpai, do you work around here?"

"I've only recently arrived in this world and I don't know if I'm going to stay."

"You should. I could introduce you to my mom, she always says I don't have any friends"

"Don't you? Well, you seem like a very outgoing person"

"You're right, I am. People just think I'm a little weird."

"Being strange isn't a flaw." Acheron's gotten comfortable with dreaming of death, and to be dreaming to die, isn't she the strangest? "Your path has brought you here, and if this is what you wish, your life will go on this way. There is no finality without origin, which is why our futures are fated. Yours may still seem hazy, but one day you'll meet people who can make the sky sparkle".

"Wise words, are you the philosopher type?" chuckled Kiana.

Acheron shrugs.

"No. Just a traveler who's seen a lot."

"You're fun and smart, can you cook? If you can cook, I'll have to marry you Acheron-senpai!"
The statement confuses Acheron. Do people from other cultures make jokes like that as a habit? No, it must just be Kiana. She's teasing her. That must be it. That's it, isn't it? She's not really going to marry her. Right ?

"Hey, by the way, I forgot to give this back to you" she removes her cloak and pulls out a metal object in the shape of a sealed box, "You dropped it the other day".

Acheron's eyes linger on it.

"You can keep it."

"'May I? I have no idea what it's for."

"It's make-up. You've never used any before?"

"Nah. I've heard about it in town, though. Expensive stuff."

"Pretty much."

"You come from a rich family? You must have been popular," Kiana mused.

"What makes you say that?"

" Cute rich girls are always popular. Anyway, I can imagine there's an amount of hypocrisy that goes with those relationships. I don't have many friends, but one is called Bronya, a rather taciturn and direct sort of girl. When we get together, it's with a hug and I know we'll be friends despite all our arguments."

"You're lucky," Acheron tells her.

"You can be my friend, Acheron-senpai. I'm weird but we can be weird together, right? You said you were alone. I used to be alone myself. Two ex-loners make the perfect team.”

Her body warms at the thought. She no longer deserves to enjoy such moments, the name Acheron bear its truth. A river of damned made of unresolved prayers. She will eventually leave, or die, destroyed by her own deeds. This finality will cost Kiana if she accept. There's nothing to be gained.

"I don't believe that people directly ask others to become their friend, Kiana-chan."

"It doesn't matter! Aren't we different? I'm the daughter of a tree and you're a galaxy ranger, we have nothing to envy them"

Acheron sinks her gaze to the dim creak of the hearth. With heartrending hunger, the flames devour the pieces of wood. Acheron is the thunder, its wings aflutter outside, like her raging heart. She also embraces the rest of the elements, the Sun and Moon, their infants, bursts of passion. Time has been annihilated. Memories remain, and although Icarus has proclaimed oblivion to many things, there's still color in her. A vain shred, swept away by remorse. Still, alive. A spark that caresses her jaw at the image of Kiana's hand on her shoulder brings her back to reality, to her sweet, achingly tempting looks.

" May I stay here? You'll need money and I'll need a roof over my head, I'll owe you."

"Of course, even without the money, I'd have agreed, you know?" she shows her the garden outside, "I want to build a two-seat swing here, which is why I need a job. With your greenhouse idea, I've got my work cut out for me! A little labor can't hurt this humble home."

"I'll do my best."

In her role as a cosmic wanderer, she was moved by two wills: one was to reforge her past, the other to pursue her own Path. One is impossible without the other. The laws of the Universe are impartial. Only few granules are left untouched by the destruction.

As she has often said and uttered, dreams are meaningless in themselves, birds are restricted to their nests and humans to the earth. A swing would be the fruit of a greedy ambition for heaven.

Over three days, she'll listen to the dew-laden thunder of the morning, taste the fruits of this woman's pure idleness and emerge defeated. That's what she predicts, attached to the idea of waste that emanates from this place. A torn painting. Kiana deserves a throne, she has the voice and the will. The tree of her life has stripped her of her glories.

Everything is possible in the naught.

That's why she wants to feel the laziness of the day, to approach the inconsistent black hole, unoriginal and careless, an unchangeable abyss. Just like her.

It's absurd, even sinful. But if this is about her own salvation, doesn't she have the right to stray from the path of reason?

"It's a good idea, but why two places?"

"Loneliness is... heartbreaking.

It took me a year and a half to raise enough money to buy this house and restore it. I did it alone, and I always felt it was the right thing to do. I was raised alone, I was born alone and I've walked this world alone, so why can't I accept it? I guess I'm selfish for wanting to be loved. I promised somebody to love this world and cherish its beauty. So, one day, ten years from now or tomorrow, I don't know, I want to meet my special person. For such a person as you, it might sound a bit silly, but I…"

"No."

Her hand on her heart, Kiana hears her voice break into a rough sound.

"Ah... ?"

"On the contrary, I think it's a noble desire - one of the noblest unthinkable. Love is a feeling made of nothingness. To be able to forget yourself for the other and offer yourself entirely, few are capable of that."

"Acheron-senpai, do you...do you cherish someone?"

"Not anymore."

"What a shame. What happened? Were your feelings not reciprocated?"

Acheron kneels before the fireplace.

"I never admitted it to her," she confesses, her head bowed, her eyelashes twinkling in the glow of the flames. "I don't think she would have understood my feelings."

"Ah, I can understand. Women are scary... eh put it that way, I'd almost sound like a hopeless jerk. Well, I'm not! I love a woman, she's beautiful, kind, I don't know her well enough to say this yet but I think she'd be able to take care of me”

"Really? I hope you conquer her heart," replies her new friend, her hand outstretched to brush against the flames.

"Hey, be careful!" exclaims Kiana, wrapping her fingers around her wrist, "I will. And I hope you will too."

"Me? But I don't have anyone in sight"

"You can stay here as long as you like, until winter or next year, and maybe when you walk by my side, you'll fall in love at first sight with a gorgeous girl"

Acheron had no heart to protest. Kiana grabs her hand and intertwines their fingers. She muses on the reasonableness of this. Shouldn't Kiana keep this kind of manners for her beloved? It would be a shame for her to abuse Kiana's kindness or even exploit her innocence for profit. As she yields to the tenderness of her embrace, thoughts vanish and everything disappears with warmth.

*

When did she fall asleep?
Her hairs have turned as the ink of snowy fields covered with a thin layer of crimson petals. She has yet to realize it, lying on a bed of straw, her limbs numb with exhaustion. Voices emanate from the darkness, carried by the annoyance that is beneath them. As she tries to distinguish who they belong to, footsteps echoes nearby and her eyes close in instinct. Someone squeezes her fingers and gently feels her pulse before moving away. The vain touch draws her lyricism from her fallen lands. She wants to write it down. Oh well, she'll forget it anyway, so... She wishes to keep a memory of it, as fleeting as it may be.

"...Why did you take her in? You have no clue about her. She might as be a spy from the Capital."

"No. She really doesn't know anything about the city, she's a traveler like us. She has not intend in hurting me. We talked and I agreed that she should recover here. What's wrong with that?"

"You have to set limits, Kiana. Accepting strangers into your home is not something you should do."

"I know, I know, when you talk like that I feel like I'm listening to Aunt Theresa, in three days I have to go to the Capital, I'll bring her with me."

"Good, be careful."

"It's alright, I'm not afraid of such a cute girl. Besides, Bronya, who are you to lecture me? Do I have to remind you about how you met Seele...?"

"...Shut up"

Acheron waits for the perfect moment to feign awakening. Kiana paces back and forth across the room, hands clenched. At the sound of the sheets, she scurries to the bed. She's wearing a different outfit from the eve, admittedly much more revealing. Her voice has the tenderness of the wind and her manner the brutality of time. Yet her body is made of a thin embrace between modesty and the lustful way her clothes catch on her limbs. The tight t-shirt she wears cuts right down to her stomach and is set with a sleeve that hides her right arm; the left, however, is bare, revealing a tattoo of twin flames intertwined. Her lower body is more or less naked, with only a set of torn shorts and a pair of tights with plenty of holes to shield her from the cold.

Acheron herself has her own share of short-cut clothes, but none of them seem so bold. She remains stunned.

"Hi," says Kiana and her sheer delight blinds Acheron, " Did you sleep well, princess?"

The long strands of her bangs prevent her from being able to see the whole of Kiana's lovely smile. She curse them. Them, and the pain within her chest. As her fingers search her forehead, they sweep away the damp strands.

"That's what I thought! These strands are uncomfortable, aren't they? Let me cut them for you."

Still groggy, Acheron speaks in a low voice, subdued by sleep. Ragged words vibrate on her lips. In spite of the fact that Kiana is still a stranger, she shouldn't be too trustful. However, the more you travel, the more you get used to slightly eccentric manners.

"... Can you?"

Kiana remains silent, her pupils wide open.

"Uh...yeah, sure."

Acheron straightens on her elbows. Her bones snap with the rhythm of her moves. As she shifts her wrists, she notices that the bandages have torn again. She looks up expectantly. Kiana has no particular reaction yet. It's as if her eyes were lost on something else. In fact, come to think of it, she's been acting strangely since Acheron woke up. She avoids her eyes, speaks little and hesitates over her usually over-confident words. How astonishing.

"Please."

"Stay there, I'm coming."

The other woman dashes out of the room. Acheron takes the opportunity to wrap her fist around the tissue of her sleeve. Blood soaks the white of the garment, leaving an indelible mark. She sighs. Why do these wounds refuse to heal? Could it be...

"I'm here!"

Chisel in hand, a jar of water in the other, Kiana returns, full of pride. She kneels before her for a while and then grabs her hand to place a tender kiss upon it. Lips linger on the shattered fingertips. Acheron stares at her, heart entangled with the thorns of camellias and lilies. Kiana lifts her head and cups her chin. All of a sudden, her confidence seems to have been restored.

Time stops. She yearn for this instant to become an eternity. Fire run on her lungs, thunder cross her bones. Straightway, radiance blossom. She blame the Goddess of the tree, why must her daughter bright this much ? Can't she fade as a vagrant dream ?

She climb in her own dream, touch the mankind left behind, ink of flowers everywhere. Birds sink, she sink, in a desolated land. She fight for hope, she throw longing in the annihilation. She move her hands in the wind and pray for redemption. The age of time buries her in the grave of her desires. The voices turn into lamentations and plunge into the abyss. They repeat a common prayer in the shade of their joined strands.

May sinners found theirs ways beneath her bloody footsteps.

She hesitates to repeat it only to forget it. It's too late, posterity is taking her memory into its own mausoleum. She reached out to the figure in front of her and grasped a solid piece of flesh. She can tell it's a shoulder, even though she's still blind to it. In the palace of dreams, a door is open, its harsh light wrenching her from oblivion.

"What...What are you doing?", she whispers.
"Um…"

Kiana close an eye and extend her hand. With an insipid movement, she holds the wandering strands and grits her teeth. Sweat runs down her temples. The glint in her irises speaks of her origin. Acheron was born with an overwhelming draw to the cosmos. Now it's her turn to play the hunter's role. Her fingers find her prey's wrists and bring them to her lips. Instead of kissing them, she murmurs against the exposed skin.

"...Don't tempt me…"

"'Huh? Princess, I...Acheron-senpai... Please don't tease me like that!"

Cheeks flushed, she stepped back with two strands draped over her knees.

"I-I haven't finished!"

"... It's all right. It's already much better…"

Kiana swallows.

" Good.…"

To her salvation, a thud echoes from the entrance of the house.

"Ah! Someone's here" she says, still distressed, " I've h...Gotta...Go."

As she flees as quickly as she came, Acheron collapses in her boldness. As she realizes her previous gesture, she stutters to herself. Her mouth quirks in enjoyment, but deep down inside, it's a complete cacophony. She then makes up her mind to move, because since when does someone like her stay in charge of others? She reaches for her sword and throws it back into its scabbard before climbing out of the window. If Kiana notices anything, she may misunderstand her feelings and prevent her from going outside. Thus, it makes an ideal distraction.

She dashes out and straddles the vegetable gardens. The rain has ceased, only dew remains. Acheron notices a stream nearby, she heads straight for it. It takes her barely five minutes to arrive with her natural agility. Once there, she takes refuge in the shade of a tree and undoes her belt. Her thoughts go back and forth with the gleam of the water. Soon, she is devoid of dreams, her clothes plummet to the ground. She strokes the top of her head and perceives the ghostly presence of torn-off limbs. Her horns, reminiscent of her previous bravery. As she sinks deeper into the water, memories evaporate. The drops blow poems over her body, embrace her scars and conceal her sins. In this place, she's only a wanderer, the name Acheron a distant memory. No other could appreciate this bone-chilling spring, yet, in her case, it's just perfect.

Her pulse thumps with dreadful lament. Behind her, a presence is dimmed by the weeping willows.

"Kurikara" she calls, the singular roar answers, "I was hoping to see you again."

The wyvern lays her head lower. Her snout plunges to the edge of the water and splashes onto Acheron's face. The splatters pearl from her lips to her chest in an ode. She dives to the bottom of the water and emerges, one hand on her forehead to push aside her hair.

The two silent beings assess each other. They know each other in a certain way. They are forged of the same indestructible will, to tie up the poetry of this world and leave it without fear.

"Kiana..." she begin, dazed, "She has taken care of you."

Kurikara chimes in with a shake of her head.

"She's a gentle soul."

She doesn't believe it without hearing it uttered. Her tone is nostalgic, like addressing an old friend.

"She deserves to experience every joy this world has to offer…"

"You better say it to me yourself, Acheron-senpai."

Caught up in this moment of relaxation, she failed to listen for the muffled footsteps approaching as well as the rustle of cloth folded meticulously against the sharp rock. She spot Kiana, bare foot in the water, in a hoodie with orange sleeves rolled up at the bends of her arms. A view both familiar and distant. A shiver runs down Acheron's spine as a blast of sweltering heat hits her body. Her knee twitches fore she adjusts her hand to hide her hiccups. Is Kiana able to see her scars from this angle? The icy water seems to be on fire. Under her jacket, Kiana wears a half-unbuttoned blouse which reveals the prominent arch of her breast. Acheron blames the sun's reflection for the sheer hint of transparency that lets her see the curves of the drawn abdomen. It's ironic to see her dip her gloved fingertips in the water and flinch, while in front of her, Acheron is stark naked.

" You've been running away from me every time I've turned my back," retorts Kiana.

"Maybe because you've been neglecting me" she hesitates before adding, "I'm joking. Don't take it so seriously…"

"Uh…"

Acheron is startled by the silence she receives while Kiana's nose begins to bleed in petal-like droplets from impala lilies.

She grabs her coat and wraps it around her shoulders. She climbs over the edge and lifts Kiana's jaw up towards her. Her downcast eyes on the crimson droplets rise to catch a glimpse at the puzzled expression on the foreigner's face. She grits her teeth as Acheron rubs her nostrils.

"You've catch a cold"

"'O-yeah, I certainly am"

"You should go home, it's no time for getting out. Anything you need, I'll fetch it for you"
Kiana stares at Kurikara, desperate to look away.

"You're my guest, it wouldn't be appropriate"

The wind threatens to blow away the sparse garment covering her naked body. At so, Acheron steps back and buries herself in the crystal-clear water. A mere fraction of her upper body is still discernible. Right there, on her stern clavicles, dew sings the praises of her pristine beauty. Kiana can hardly take her eyes off her as she stands in prostration. The shade of spring flowers shimmers on her complexion, a reckless touch of pink that could just as easily be make-up. Acheron would like to see her use her gift, the way a rhyme used in poetry, or even rhapsody, with velvet ink.

Feathers fall from the tree above her. Their sweet caress is an exquisite perfume, idyllic paradox for a once-warrior.

" Would you like something to eat? Or drink or um...anything else?"

"'Mhh... some tea, if you please" hums Acheron.

Kiana nods and makes a silent promise.

A memory lingers on the surface of the water. On the suburbs of a wealthy town, a father and daughter enjoyed a drink in a landscape transcended by peonies and cherry blossoms, petals draped over their shoulders, hands clasped over a cup of tea. The koi carp danced in the pools, their reds wavering to the brim of visitors' eyes, their bodies silenced by the shade of bamboos. The father drew a smile under the gazebo, his daughter lifted up on a cozy seat, framed by the city's high mountains and narrow hills.

The sparks fade.

"I'm here"

Tea is served without a tray, along the few conveniences Kiana can afford. Acheron rubs Kiana's fingers as she reaches for the outstretched cup. Then she snaps back, overcome with a sense of having committed a trespass. Kiana's smile persists. So... Why does she think she's been taking too much of everything? These touches, how many did she manage to get?

Her body burns. Her fingers wrap around the cup's wrist. Although she's put her fortune clothes back she still has the feeling of being naked. She takes a sip and fires her throat.

"Wait a minute! That must...Ah...Are you okay?"

"Yes. Don't worry."

"Neither hot nor cold, eh? You're really impressive, Acheron-senpai. What haven't you endured or done already, tell me?"

"Being attached to someone"

Kiana froze.

"Oh. Uh... Speaking of which, I made a promise to find you a beloved, didn't I? Why don't we go for a walk? The weather might be a bit rough, but I'll be fine with a coat on."

"I told you not to bother"

"It's something important. How long have you been alone in this world? In these worlds, I should even say. You deserve a lot more for yourself than that. You say I'm an important person and deserve the joys of this world, but what about you? I feel as if, despite our recent relationship, I've known you all my life. That's why...I hope you can care about yourself more."

Acheron's heartbeat quickens. She places the cup on the rim and looks down into the reflection left by the scattered remains of tea. She might suffocate. Maybe she is, maybe she's going to die right now, swept away by nihilism. It's been so long since anyone cared about her in this way. Who was the last one? Her father or...Her.

Between the lines of the books, there are abstractions, entwined with the metaphors of drunken sentences. Meanings become sounds, which in turn melt into rhymes, then into ways of loving, of blossom stems joined into wreaths. The gods allege the sound of thunder and seek to strip it away. They search the laps of her skin; the path of her veins and the scars streaks. There is nothing but a devouring hunger, to exist and to subsist.

"'Hey, you wanna guess what? It doesn't matter, let's go!"

Her lips twitched. Then her hands grab Acheron's wrist and lead her along again. She's getting used to being dragged like this. Hardly a damnation. Just a greedy thought, their fingers bound. Soothing touch, cathartic in fact. She craves it.

"Is...your nose okay?" she says.

Kiana sketches the vastness of a smile.

"And your fingers?"

Eyes squint, she aims ahead.

"No answer? Okay, okay. Today, we're going to have some fun. Have you ever tried fishing? Or even, and this is an expensive hobby but I know just the place where we could try some games. I'm used to gardening, wandering in the forest and drawing in the sand. What do you like to do for fun, Acheron-senpai?"

"Reading, practicing my sword techniques, archery and...Oh, I guess you were expecting something else."

Kiana laughed out loud.

"I don't particularly like reading, but if you want to teach me archery, I might be able to impress you."

"If you like, I can show you a few moves"

"Please do! And then you can teach me how to do my make-up. We can feed the birds by the stream and eat as much as we can! Then, when it's night time, let's count the stars, and pray together again, shall we?"

"Agreed."

They cross their pinkies in a bloom.

"Perfect!"

No one could deserve this heartfelt smile, this seraphic demeanor, this youthful sincerity, all blessed by the woodland heart. They'd unravel her enchantments, rip the beauty out of her soul, thrill her pulse with a disharmony capable of striking the stars.

Acheron joins her in a shared harmony. They come and go in stray fields, sow seeds and stumble over old knots. The palimpsest takes shape in the sky, letters slip into it, quivering over the authenticity of its humanity. Flowers grind their venom, spreading the sandalwood scent that emanates in the home after their journey. In the depths of the forest, the wolves are moved by the sight of the two of them. Kiana lays wreaths of flowers on the doorsteps, the locals respond with their endless air of exasperation, to which she chuckles.

How can anyone enjoy this world so much?

There's only one way to do it: cross the river to Hell. In this sense, she reminds her of an old friend, her face in such flame shadow that Acheron would hardly be able to recognize it. Is this the fate of all beings, or just those who dare to overstep the Aeons' path?

Kiana...
The Moon Goddess.
What has she endured? She spoke of dear ones while living in an abyss of solitude. She spoke of love, as a forsaken vagrant. From which cocoon was she torn, and how was she tormented? Was it exile or atonement? Was she sent to this river to purge her sinful soul?
There is no answer.
No end to it.
Her breath floats under Acheron's yoke.

Night has fallen and she sleeps peacefully in her sheets and pajamas. She is unaware of the Sword of Damocles she has been entrusted with. Dreams stalk her nights, steam at her bare temples. Her lips are drawn together, her hands curled against her waist. They quake. Her shivers sharpen Acheron's raging insanity. She swoons with sensation. For a moment, everything seems like a fever dream. The threads of consciousness wrap around the sharpened claws. In fright, she opens her eyes and stumbles nose-to-nose with a memory creature. Her smile is vague, gradually twisting into dread. A hint of crimson sheds light on a bleached darkness.

"Acheron-senpai?"

This ghost still has the features she's been fond of lately. A tortured face, a distant gaze. A body made of agony and torment. And, Acheron had so many scars on her body, from Lichtenberg marks to mere scarification wounds, none escaped Kiana's curious eye. But this time, her fright didn't come from her fear of creasing an already worn page. She was afraid she'd messed up. This fear drove her to curl up in bed and beckon the shadow to come closer. In this gesture, she invites it to devour her.

"'You can't sleep?"

"Are you talking to me?" retorts 'Acheron’, her white hair ablaze in the hiemal moonlight.
Kiana nods, curled up, knees against her chest.

"You have secrets too" she murmurs, "I...I had a nightmare"

"I know."

"I saw an unfamiliar planet. War, death, so much death. And in the midst of this desolation, twelve swords were brandished as a symbol of hope. Then they were destroyed and reshaped into two inks: finality and origin. You were holding one of them"
"I know."

"Are these your memories?"

Acheron sits on the couch and strokes the side of the bed with her fingertips. The fabric gives with ease. The caress inspires a thrum in Kiana's spine. With such softness, she has unconsciously tear up the object beneath her net. A black hole is a peaceful place. At least, until you try to discover its secrets.

"Yes."

"You've lived a hard life. Is that why...?"

She draws the marks on her arms, streaks that were once bloody. Proof that one day life left her. Pure human despair. Kiana knows perfectly well what it's like to feel incapable of anything. She knows very well that the desire to die is not a choice. If she'd told anyone, their confidence would no doubt have been shaken, and they'd most likely have pitied her even more. A painful reminder, because how pitiful had she found herself? Scarlet was her only escape.
She closed her eyes and tightened the flaps of her nightdress.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you. If I've hurt you, please tell me. I hurt your feelings over and over again, in the end."

"No," replies Acheron, "you haven't done anything wrong."

"My father used to say..." a tear falls onto her shaking hands, "Oh...He used to say...That curiosity was a vicious flaw"

"It's true that it can be the source of evil. However, when used properly, it can also be a proof of sincerity. Yours didn't hurt me, I'm just...I tend to forget things, a lot of things, as you've probably noticed by now. Sometimes, I even forget who I am".

"So…"

" Those white hairs belong to another part of me. When it happens, events are hard to recall, it's as if for a brief time, everything is shattered. And...I'm afraid she intends to hurt you."

"No. She won't. You would never hurt me Acheron-senpai."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I've already told you: I know you better than I know myself, it's as if our two hearts were made for each other" replies Kiana, placing her hand on Acheron's, "Look at me...Ach...Mei-senpai".

A bolt of lightning strikes her. She turns her head in a slow, frightening movement, her pupils meeting the stars cradled by the moon. Kiana smiles at her.

Kiana is f*cking smiling at her.

She survived.

She stood over the graves of her parents, her friends, all those who had not been thus fortunate.

She won.
Didn't she?

Her fingers are smeared with the blood of her blade, bodies lie at her feet. Her shoulders twitch with utter sorrow.

True, she's won, and in the process she's lost her own self. Her whole person and so many other things. A name is a trivial matter. Souls need names to be recognized, but she no longer felt the name she'd been given at birth was one she could live with.

Beautiful blossom. A heartbreaking irony.

Despite all those years of loneliness and grief, she still remained deeply empathetic. And for this girl, as radiant as a summer moon…

Ah...

*

" Tell me Mei, do you ever experience nightmares?"

A woman in hospital clothes held a notepad in her hand while a seven-year-old girl sat in wait beside her. The room itself was empty, with only the sound of a thunderstorm echoing from the sealed window. There were rumors that many suicidal attempts had taken place on this floor, hence the armored windows and the scant presence of objects in the vicinity. The girl had been familiar with death since her mother's funeral, though her father refused to discuss the subject in depth, even if she had read enough books to comprehend the matter.

She shook her head, her palms all sweaty. The woman approached her at a leisurely pace, her face in the shadow of her thick glasses.

"You mustn't lie to me."

"It's the truth" claimed Mei, "Nobody hurt me. Father has hired many butlers to look after me. I have sword fighting lessons with Mister Homu every Saturday and the rest of the time I study at school"

"That's lovely, you're an obedient girl but that's not what I asked you. Let me reiterate my question: do you ever experience nightmares?" urged the psychologist.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

The girl was bowled over by the incitement. True honesty was something her father taught her. If her heart remained strong, every obstacles would be mere stones on a path made of gold. She had to ensure she was an honorable person before she could go against boundaries. Adults asked her to lie or deny. They came around her home and questioned what her father dealt in. if she told the truth, he'd be put in jail, but if she lied…

How could she become her father's ideal daughter?

"I can't tell you"

"Why not? Is it because of the accident?"

Mei shuddered.

"No, it isn't.

"Then I'll have to question your father. You must understand that if you refuse to tell me the truth, we'll have to take more severe measures."

"I can't blurt these things out loud" Mei gasps, intimidated by the mention of possible punishment, "I didn't do anything wrong."

"These people. They kidnapped you, didn't they? What did they tell you?"
"They...Said that one day Izumo...Would fall"

"Nonsense. To predict the apocalypse, in front of an innocent little girl. What were their intentions…"

"I...Father said those words were wild talk. Does this mean everyone's going to die?"

"Don't say such things. No one is going to die. Can you tell me more about them?"

"No. I no longer remember... "

"Traumatic amnesia." states the psychologist, "It's the common result of a situation like the one you experienced. Other damage could be present. Your brain has trouble adapting to what it's seen. Have you noticed any changes since that day?"

"I...don't...know."

"Think about it."

"I...I feel like my dreams have changed" Mei admits, "Since the accident, sometimes I dream of Mother. But not only that, also of another girl. She has white hair, blue eyes, and looks very pretty. she always keeps me safe".

"It's so sweet. Maybe your brain made that one up so you could feel safe. Is that all?"

"There's someone else. She looks like me but mean, she wants to hurt others, I don't know why…"

"Oh. Interesting, does she have a name?"

"Not a name. "

"What else?"

"A title: Herrscher..."

*
Lightning streaks across the sky.

"What did you call me? "

"Mei-senpai. Isn't that your real name?", Kiana insists, convinced of what she says, “I was pretty sure of it until now, but then... Ah, it's pretty obvious."

The marks on Acheron's stomach and legs emerge in the half-light. Kiana takes a dangerous step. She grabs the collar around Acheron's throat to bring her closer. Their faces mere centimeters apart, she draws a deep breath. She yearns to trace the constellations of her flesh and guess their genesis, and in this frantic race, their fate. Like flames ready to swallow her, they dance. She's tempted by their seductive lure. Acheron's livid skin darkens. All her senses were returning. However, confronted by this invasion her crimson pupils blazed.

"I'm dying to know"

"To know what? The truth or...what you'd like to hear?"

"Your truth," Kiana said, her eyes locked on hers, "Only yours."

"I might not be the one you think I am. Maybe you may want to kick me out."

"I would never do that. Mei is Mei, no matter what"

In a world dedicated to a single purpose, Kiana's eyes are an immense watchtower. Her own, in one sense, along with many others in the universe before her. She's someone's daughter. Mothers are all the same: they want the best for their child. If nothing else, that's not what they're called. Acheron's mother has a life shaped by a comet, brief and bright. She gifted her a name. As a gift, for the daughter she was destined to love for eternity, the flesh of her flesh, born of a desire to be and to bring into being.

"How..." she closes her eyes, a sharp pain stabs her skull, "Did you guess it?"

"Ah, ah. I heard a lot of rumors and then I saw the person herself. From the cocoon where I was born, we glance at the stars of our brothers and sisters. Astronomy allows us to read the future. Some beings orbit with others, in transient bliss. Among the nebula, planets are shattered by a single spark, while others shine forth. As we grasp in our hands the ties that bind us - tiny stems of knots and brambles, strands stand out. How could I miss such beauty as yours?"

"I didn't know," replies Acheron,, in a distracted voice, "What did you see?"

Kiana looks away. She climbs off the bed and drags back the curtains. She gazes longingly at the stars. She finds it hard to concentrate, pulled time and again by the harsh breath of Acheron. Her own breaths become labored. She curls her fingers around the window sill and attempts to quiet her pulse. She longs to escape, to plunge her face into the stream beneath and wait for her anguish to disappear.

"I have seen you die," she finally confesses, "and I have seen you kill me."

Something ephemeral urges Acheron to reach out and pull Kiana closer to her cold body. She wraps her arms around her waist in a tight embrace.

"Breathe."

"Wha...what?"

"Breathe. Just breathe."

"But..." tears roll down her rose-tinted cheeks, "I don't want to lose you again."

"I'm not Mei, I'm just a wanderer. Please don't be attached to someone like me."

Kiana's body swivels to meet Acheron's. She clutches at her shirt and cries against her chest. She sobs and robs her being of all that once enlivened it. With every touch, she longs to prove her affection. Her thoughts drift back to the time when she saw the devastation. As they sit, they're already on their own deathbeds. To meet was a tragic mistake. However, Kiana has no regrets. She never will, even in her last moments. She experienced elation, she enjoyed stargazing with Acheron, entwining crowns with her torn fingers, making sinful promises.

"You'll always be Mei, in this life and the next. When I lost you the first time...I looked for you all over, in all the Lands and in all the abodes, wherever I saw a glint of purple. I loved you in the vast plains I've crossed, each of them dedicated to you. I am the end and you are my origin, and as we have always promised each other : The origin is an end... and the end is a beginning. When we were human, when we were Herrschers, when we were two simple buds in the wind. I loved you. I always will, these words are engraved in my being, I could be tortured, hasn't it already been done? I could be blamed, all the ounces of my being could be separated, it wouldn't change a thing."

"One day..." begins Acheron, unsure of how to express the myriad of emotions swirling inside her, "I dreamed of you, as a savior, A great and mighty person. That was a long time ago, in a bygone era when I could have shared your feelings."

"Does that mean I've been rejected? "

"N-No...Ah, well...Yes, I suppose so."

"That's a shame. I worked so hard on that quote. Didn't I... Shatter at least a tiny part of you?"

"Kiana-chan…"

"Mei-senpai"

"I can't…"

"You can"

"We don't even know each other!"

"I know you. Isn't that why I crave so much of you?”

"It's not the same," replies Acheron, springs to her feet, she admires the fierce tears in Kiana's eyes with a grief beyond words, "I'm going to hurt you. We're going to hurt each other.
We're going to…"

Kiana stops her.

"We're going to do a lot of things. Like we've done before. Would a kiss be such a burden?"

Acheron freezes. She mused about kissing her the moment they met, the moment she caught sight of her eyes closed, bent over her drowsy expression, her features torn by distant grief, a medley of scars. She thought about doing it by the lake, her whole body warmed by the touch of moonlight. She stops herself from raising her fingers to her lips - she bites the atmosphere, swings her bruised bones, her twisted finger joints like the branches of an old willow. She tastes her bluish eyes, her cruel smile.

"A kiss?"

"Yeah, yeah, what more could a person like me want?"

Suddenly, Acheron's hands, Mei's hands, lay in her hair and lips in a painting. A portrait of romance. Of an endless yearning which has thrilled countless souls over the ages, and has led many others to doom. Their kiss sinks. Their bodies collide, struggling to exist. Kiana's hands brush Mei's shoulder, she clings to the raft, drifting on this forbidden sea. The uncomfortable wind makes their flesh quiver. They fall onto the bed, born to be thus intertwined. Time has not stopped, it continues, in time of kisses. Kiana snatches her breaths, sweeps away her worries, hers too. She hugs and kisses her once, then twice, until she grows too jaded. She devolves her essence to the lust of the moment and consumes Mei with it.

Kiana's right hand is under her chin, her fingers titillate her skin.

Her mouth reaches for her neck, vivid and exposed since long ago. She seeks to embrace it and call it as her own. Yet Acheron resists, pushes her away with a silky touch. When she pulls back, she is swept away by the waves, wet and bruised by guilty affection.

They stare at each other, reckless and desolate. Their ragged breaths are echoes.

"Tomorrow, I'll take you to the Capital," says Kiana, in a pained breath, "As promised."
Mei becomes Acheron again - the lonesome river.

"Yes. It's for the best."

The world is full of silent murmurs, ceaseless footsteps, bolts of lightning shatter behind the steamy window. The panes are shaking, Kiana holds her watering can before the bay, her gaze on the fallen plants. While Acheron feigns disinterest, she also looks at the tilted fence, the rope on the ground, the wilted flowers under the green bushes. In the distance, the trees grow taller against the immensity of the sky, ready to blossom into twilight. Near the shore, a pair of pink and blue flowers stand together against the cold. A cottage stands at the top of the hill, submerged by the southern sea. A woman dressed in shades of pale red hums a melody. Acheron can barely hear her, though her charm eludes her. She reminds Acheron of the stream, the petals, the arch bridge and the columns that encircle the fountain at the foothills of the woods.

She turns her head towards her and tilts it slightly, then reveals an intriguing smile.

What a strange sight.

It leaves her feeling even more regretful.

*

The next day, at dawn, they honored the first buds on the ground.

Kiana speak about the time she had been introduced to the stages of growth. She was impressed by the similarities between humans and other forms of existence. Plants, like infants, had to be nurtured with a mother's care and affection. When she chose to leave on her own to build her hamlet, the goddess had warned Kiana of the risks involved. Kiana would have to become a mother. The mother of a frail thing. Earth would not be kind to her, nor was it to anyone else. Without it, humans were bound to have no triumph in becoming king. The price of effort gives the winner a fairer reward than the victory. This is also why death, in many cultures, including the one she inspired, symbolized a beginning.

They descend the hill that separates Kiana's house from the forest. On their way, they notice a hot-air balloon carried by the curves of the wind. They pick fruit, taste it quietly, savor it without measures. Acheron seems to get used to such idleness. But it's dangerous.

She walks several meters behind Kiana, a clenched fist behind her back. She listens to the gurgling of the water and the murmur of the first day's flute. She wants to ask her about the mysterious woman at the top of the mountain. The words stuck. Her appearance is an unspeakable aberration. She can see her up there, smiling again, almost as if she can hear her mind. Acheron narrows an unpleasant grin. Sorrow stumbles her across Kiana's footprints. Kiana runs across the fields, arms spread wide, giggling and shouting at the world.

"Life is so awesome !”

She falls into the flowers, rains them down on top of her. She makes an autumn angel, a winter blossom, Acheron's favorite spring flower. The ephemeral beauty of this world.

"I'd so love to ride in that hot-air balloon. It must be fantastic to see the world from this distance." she says.

Words elude her so simply, and every one of her desires flows like this.
She rises, dancing among the leaves, her wild movements catching the light of day, the grasses settle on her calves, and caress her skin with the soft touch of a lover. Kiana smiles, laughs and growls like a beast. She's a creature of dreams, a never-ending dream that Acheron wishes never to awaken from. She's afraid to leave this illusory world, afraid to return to tomorrow, where the rain will make the flowers wilt, where her existence will return to the vain search for meaning. She wants to take her hand and chase the clouds by her side, she wants to reach the Moon, that's where freedom lies.

Maybe Kiana is a mystery and maybe their love is a sin, maybe she once damned herself to see her breathe just a second longer and maybe continuing to hope like this will make her suffer but...This is how she wants to live her life.

"Why aren't you going?" Acheron asks her, her gaze set on that hot-air balloon, "It's not an unattainable dream."

She stops and takes hold of Kiana's wrist, as she begins to flee. They're at the foot of the stream, and before them stands a woman sitting on bent knees, her back to an inanimate crescent moon. Her long hair merges with the folds of her dress. Her gaze is locked on the flowers she holds. Around her is a field of gypsophila made for contemplation. The flowers are flourishing like nowhere else, they've all already bloomed in this early spring. Kiana kneels down to touch them with her fingertips. Instead of picking them, she simply cherishes their fragrance. Acheron is more inclined to tear them from its lands. She's always been that way. She hates to treasure from afar.

"Acheron-senpai, not all dreams are meant to be fulfilled" replies Kiana, her fingers casting a shadow on the white petals, "Sometimes, beautiful things are meant to be appreciated from a distance".

She's draped in a white dress, mirroring the statue's, fitted to her curves. The fabric floats over the flowers, yet refuses to merge with them. The pieces of cloth melt onto her crystal skin. In this way, Kiana looks like she's part of this vain garden.

"You look like a princess," says Acheron before biting her tongue, "Have I ever told you that before?"

Kiana turns, her eyes widening before giving way to her dilated pupils.

"Sometimes, yes. You were shy at first but after we got married, you used to compliment me frequently, when you forgot to do so, you always felt sorry and I had to cover you with kisses."

"You didn't tell me about the wedding."

"Most people say it's the happiest day of their lives" sighs Kiana, "For me, it was one of the best, even if every day spent by your side was special to me"

"I...do you want to talk about it?" inquires Acheron, her mind fogged by intrusive thoughts. How could she imagine her own wedding? Kiana appealed to her, of course, she had an irresistible charm, but...to marry her? It seems impossible. Acheron is...Just, not worthy of her.

"No, I'm fine. Maybe it's better you don't remember. Otherwise, how could you ever get married in the future?"

"And...what if I never want to get married?" replies Acheron, in a harsh breath.

" It would be a shame..."

"If you say so."

" Anyway...Is there anything else I can ask you, Acheron?"

Kiana plucks a flower and tucks it behind the passenger's ear. In a deep swallow, this one agrees.

"Of course."

"Do you remember your way to the River of Death?"

She heaved a sigh, "More or less."

"Was it painful?" asks Kiana, "I heard that if you declined the old lady's soup, you had to suffer for 1,000 years to be reborn, watching your loved ones cross the river, die in turn and make the same choice - or not. As they waited, they gradually lost their memories and became aimless wandering souls."

"It's true"

As Kiana realized the gravity of these words, her breathing quickened.

"You didn't accept...Mei! Why…"

"To drink my own tears? I'd rather spend a thousand years in order to forget you"

Kiana squeezes the remaining flowers between her fingers, the frivolous petals crumpling and tearing. She leaves a tear to fill them, a tear to water them and a final tear, for her own grief. She lets out a low guttural sound, then turns to grasp Acheron's shoulders but resists the urge to hug her. The mere thought of Acheron enduring a thousand years of agony upon her name is enough to give her nausea. She has lamented over the graves of her friends, waited for centuries and for miracles to see them again. Nevertheless, she never died. Once, she was swept away by a bloody blade, left with her eyes wide open. As the blood dripped from her tears and the pain inflamed the fibers of her being, she thought it was worth it. Even if it was a fleeting instant.

"Was...was it...?"

"Let me have a few questions, Kiana-chan, will you? I'd like to know a few things before we go our separate ways"

"...Fine, I'm listening"

"To begin with, I'd like to know more about how you came to live on this particular planet.
You hailed from planet Earth, like the rest of us, so I was wondering why, after all this time, you decided to pretend to be a human here."

"My Herrscher powers began to fade. I've lived a long time, and for someone who thought she'd die at seventeen, it's...rather unfair. So when I realized - after your death, Bronya's death and even Fu Hua's death - that I would see our world end, I...I couldn't bring myself to do it...We fought so many times to defeat the Honkai! So many times and then...and then, for what? Life went on, of course, but...for me, it was over. They spoke of me as a hero, when I came down to Earth to pray at your grave, I..."

Acheron interrupts before she bursts into tears.

"You don't need to say any more, I think...I think that's enough."

"Bronya doesn't remember her old life, Seele neither. I'm just glad they found each other again. I cried and prayed to the gods of this world to be able to see you again, at least...Just once. I wanted to spend more time with you, I wanted to show you the beauty of this world and all the others I've visited aboard the Astral Express, eh, have you heard of it? It's...so special. These travelers are talented people with high hopes. They remind me of a time when...we could dream too", says Kiana, choking back tears, "I...Explored the world for you. I wrote your name in the verses of the poets you loved, I begged their kind to dedicate elegies to you, I did my best...Yet I still feel that...Nothing is enough. Without you, it's..."

"The world is nothing without you," they sing in tune.

Kiana laughs. Her tears flow.

"You remember that."

"A little bit"

"Don't be sad, don't force your memories. Life can be difficult. I'd like this day to be a happy memory for us. A wedding of convenience, you might say. " she wipes away her tears and wraps her pinkie around her partner's, "Come, I want to show you something."

"I'll follow you."

It's starry on the shore as night falls. So they say in the village. Acheron has never been there alone, but she can see the difference in the way people treat her when they see who she's with. Kiana is a folksy person. She makes the children laugh, she buys food for the poor - even though she barely has enough to feed herself, she brings the horses back to their hatches, all with her usual cheerfulness. "It's Kiana," Acheron muses, the Kiana she kissed, whose lips are inked on hers for eternity. The one holding her hand right now. Because...it's the most natural thing to do. Isn't it?

Yet...

"Are you listening to me?"

"Excuse me, what were you saying?" she looks up and sees Kiana's worried expression, her own hand is on her wet forehead, a terrible headache cutting off her breath. She gasps and grips
Kiana's fingers to avoid losing her memory, "My sword..."

"What?"

"My sword, I need it" she mumbles, her voice hoarse with pain, "Otherwise...Otherwise..."

"Okay, okay, give it to me, I'll draw it for you."

"No, Fresbass, its power could corrupt you" she retorts as she staggers away "I'm the only one who can bear this burden"

"Fres...Ah! Careful, I'll help you. Sit down, calm down.”

Acheron nods and points to the scars under her sleeves. Suddenly the pain eased. She drops the scabbard in her lap and remembers something. Kiana holds her shoulder. Her fingers are familiar.

"I met someone who looked a lot like you. I was fighting by her side the day I got these marks. Her name was Frebass and she was my first love."

"Really? Mei-senpai can't resist my charm it seems" joked Kiana, her heart light at the thought that no matter the circ*mstances, it was fate that brought them together.

"Don't joke. She's gone now."

"Are you sure about that?"

"What do you mean...? Is that..."

"Maybe. In this world, I've taken many forms; finality never ends, you know? Death is no way out, tragedy a new path. If only to be with you for a moment…"

Time can be stopped, after all. We can slow its progress into the future by running slowly toward infinity. It's difficult for a physical body to bear the strain of time: the hair turns gray, the skin withers, the heart gives way. At an infinitesimal atomic level, it's possible to change unimportant things to cause the creation of a black hole. Kiana used her powers in this way, and with a fleeting flutter of butterfly wings, she reconstituted herself as a vessel.

In a fragment of memory, Acheron recalled every day spent at Frebass's side, their secret mess, the marshmallows roasting on the fire, the way she held her bow upright, her laughter lost in a nocturnal thought, the weightless manner she jumped between river rocks, the habit of self-reproach when she fell, the way she smiled, every second of it. Their last exchanges, the grief she had inflicted on herself, the pain, an inflicting pain, etched into her being. Acheron wept over the jacket left behind, over the sole memory of a departed soul. She had died. Nothin' remained of her. She had departed like a firefly, torn, dissipated, tortured until her atoms burst, until Acheron once again lost the reason for her being. Frebass was in the spring breeze, in the stifling heat of summer, in the harsh autumn with its multiple showers and in the comfortable winter with its hearths.

That she was broken, shattered, forgotten, annihilated.
Acheron couldn't forgive herself.
But that she was once the beauty of this world and the finality of another, she...

The next thing she knew, they were on the lake, stars raining down on her. Kiana tells her it's a shooting star shower, a rare phenomenon in this world. Acheron stares at the waterfall, never quite able to take her eyes off it. The change is blatant. It tears the string in her heart. At a stroke, her grief turns into the burden with which she travels. The sky is breathtakingly beautiful, but never as eternally splendid as Frebass. Acheron has learned to count the seconds by her side, she has known love and ephemerality, she has appreciated life as a whole. Then it all came to an end with the shore of the dead.

The stars left a trail of powder in the extinguished sky, like once, IX had only left ashes to mourn over.

Kiana is Fresbass.
She is...The two people she has loved are really the same person. Isn't that strange? Isn't it crazy?

Why does she feel it's so obvious? The pain in her chest persists. She receives a dagger - no, a thousand, one for every centimeter of Fresbass's skin that she has torn open out of grief, out of selfishness.
The boat sways and the pond water splashes onto both their tearful faces. Kiana smiled in spite of everything, her paddle clutched to her chest. Acheron stares at her for a long time, lips trembling, her whole body swept with the dread once inspired by solitude. In this inner chaos, this discordant hymn, shock struggled against anger, not a rage, an anger over a missed shrill detail. When Kiana tumbles backwards into the stream, she finds herself driven by an even greater panic. Once again, Frebass melts into the darkness of nihility, she feels her sinking into the depths of gloom, she can see herself waiting for her at the shore's departure point, with her hands clasped to her chest, her heart aching. She dived in and wrapped her arms around Kiana's body, embracing her almost to the verge of suffocation. She pulls her up onto the shore, sweeps the strands from her face and kisses her. A passionate blow. Teeth chatter, blood flows, pain deepens into mirth. The sorrowful joy Mei allows herself - like this name, purged in the flames - contrasts with the face of her lover's cold tears.

"Mei-senpai, are you crying?" asks Kiana, herself flustered by sobs, "It reminds me of Arc City, you were crying your eyes out too. But, Mei-senpai wanted to hold her head high, she wanted to be my elder, to protect me while I preferred to be alone, to avoid hurting my friends and...How stupid we were."

There's so much grief on her flesh, frantic sorrow, the laments of the godless, the guilty of Izumo, some tears she'd never seen on Frebass's face. On the Nameless One, in fact on her own path.
Kiana had been like this in her first life, wanting to surpass herself, to shoulder the burden of an entire world, why should she have changed?

As her eyelids close, as kisses are lost, she can abandon this facade, she can become her mother's fragile daughter, stubborn, angry, fond.

In their homes of mourning, a home of tragedy. But it belonged to them. Theirs and theirs alone.

The past is past, the future is mystery. Mei embraces Kiana with the strength of a hundred warriors. Her life depends on it, she feels her fingers quiver, her jaw clench. She can't cry anymore, she had long lost the human shiver of grief.

Well, she's found her.

So why does she keep getting the impression that everything is doomed to fail? She holds her in her embrace, against her chest, while Kiana listens to her pulse. Her tears mingle with her racing heartbeat. Neither of them can calm down.

"M-Mei-senpai, I..." her absent gaze meets the pain that slumbers in her lover, "are you going to disappear again?"

"No, never."

"You're lying."

"I wouldn't leave you no matter what, but I...Kiana, I have no way of fighting death"

"Ah...Yes, I know that" Kiana sits cross-legged, her face in her hands, "You're mortal"

"But isn't that what's beautiful about life?" says Mei, taking her shoulder with one hand, "You told me: pain is a part of life, without it we could never really be alive"

"Pain yes, but agony...;"

"I love you" she doesn't hesitate a second longer, pulls her into a kiss and forces her to lay her head on her knees, "That this world is ruined, that everything is taken from me, it doesn't change a thing"

She dedicates her most beautiful smile to her. In this face etched with torment, it's a sin-some pain.

"I've never said it enough, Kiana"

Kiana stares at her without saying anything.

"Hey.."

"Yes? Did I say something wrong?"

"No! Quite the opposite, that's just...Don't you think it's weird?" retorts Kiana, her cheeks kissed by a dewy tinge, "A second ago, we weren't on this lake."

Mei looks around. The stars showers on and on, night falls, the villagers have carried their lanterns to the bark of the trees.

"Yes, to be honest, I feel quite feverish, like we were in a waking dream. Can you remind me what just happened? I...Weren't we in front of a statue? And why are we so entangled...?" asks Mei, pulling her knees up against her chest just as Kiana straightens up.

"Did you...forget?" she runs a hand past her hair to wipe away her sweat and lets out a nervous laugh, "You told me you loved me, Mei-senpai."

"I don't remember but...I'm slowly recalling our tragic days during the Honkai, our hard lives, our fights, all our losses, sorrows, tortures...And, I...I wanted to go on a date with you" she cracks into a tortured laugh, her voice split in a wheeze. "I loved you, it's true. More than anything in the world."

Saying it again makes her feel as if she's collapsing. On her knees, she spits out a mouthful of blood. Kiana barely catches her, bursting into a scream.

"I'm afraid that the moment I decide to draw this sword again, everything will be destroyed," Mei explains.

Kiana's eyes shine with a will she knows well. In spite of her anxiety, she stands up and grabs Mei's sword scabbard. The blade hums beneath the metal. Without even touching the edge itself, her fingers are covered in crimson streaks.

"Then I'll do it for you."

Mei dismisses the idea with a shake of head. She grabs the sheath of her sword and moves away on her elbows, breathless. Her body is exhausted, and each step brings her further pain. Her joints splatter blood on the false sand of the shore.

"You're not allowed"

Kiana shakes her chin, her lip a mess of blood as she bites it.

"Mei-senpai. Nothing can happen to me, I'm a Herrscher. This world has yet to be corrupted by the Honkai, it's one of the last remnants without stigma. We must eradicate all threats," says Kiana as she slowly approaches.

Mei grits her teeth and refuses again. The boat reaches the shore, pink flowers falling on the pieces of wood. She clings to the edge and breathlessly steps in. A candle dangles over the rim, ready to burn an unfolded book. Once again, things change in a fanciful way. The former warrior throws herself wholeheartedly into this fearless dream.

Kiana paused, hands on hips.

"You wanna play a game of tag now?" She shakes her wrists and imitates the gesture of a plunger.

"Because I'm very good at it, you know."

Mei stifles a laugh, "I'd like to see that."

" Just as you please, Princess" replies Kiana, then tiptoes down to the water's edge. After exchanging a petty smile, she pretends to throw herself forward. But before she can maintain her balance, she stumbles and falls into the middle of the water.

In response, Mei can't help but burst out laughing.

"Hey! Don't make fun of me!" grumbles Kiana, with a pout. She grabs the edge of the boat and tilts it slightly to swing the person inside, "Otherwise the lake monster will devour the princess."

"Get in, you're already soaked".

"Why aren't you scared? I'm the monster! The evil kraken!"

Kiana waves her arms to mimic tentacles. Mei brings the boat close to the beast and seizes its face. The monster then stops kicking.

"This creature is surprisingly tame," she says, "yet it continues to frighten the fishermen."

She picks up her fingertips and twirls her around the silent shore as a ripple.
The waltz shakes the cloudy surface of the water. Stars flutter down her snowy hair, and her eyes seize the stars to shed light on her gaze. Their strands entwine into united skin. Kiana laughs, her mirth dulled by the water's echoes. Their touch is an intimate kiss that only the two of them truly recognize. She twirls and swirls, and Mei follows her as far as the flow permits. Her fingers slip for a moment, drop the floating body. She watches as Kiana moves away, and exhorts herself to think about the past. Was it like this once? Had the sky frozen to let her beauty unfold?

"A mere hesitation and the princess is swallowed" proclaims Kiana.

No longer did she row and let herself be carried away by the beast's sudden strength. The prey flinches, but two strong arms catch it. When she looks up, it's the former creature greeting her. In its divine ardor, it threats to consume her. Her lips hover over Mei's, desire waltzes with their intertwined fingers. Blood slides down her arm, mingling with their touch. It's their red string, their destiny forever sealed.

"No matter how much I forget you," she says as she slides her scabbard to the far end of the boat, "I'd forget your face, your name, the way you say my name or smile, I'd even forget you were alive but..."

Kiana caresses her soft lips.

"I'll never forget that I loved you."

A breath sweeps across their shadows. She inhales at the scent of his lips, tastes them with a hint of expectation. It may not be the first time, but the kiss burns her skin. Her hand slides up the wet back of her neck, Kiana's arm wrapping around her waist. She kisses her palms for a long moment, her breath lingering on the bloodlines. She laughs because her first thought is of the first day they met, the most beautiful day of this existence, despite the pain it paint.
Mei steps back, brushing her cheek as if she'd been bitten by an insect.

"Well..."

"I'm not sorry," Kiana breathes in, "For that kiss or what's happening now."

"Now?"

Kiana kisses her again as her lips breathe an apology, Mei still wonders why when she grabs her by the waist and lifts her off the boat. Her sheath topples into the water. Far from being one of her worries, Kiana straddles the shore without a glance and starts running. She barely touches her, for fear of burning her wings, yet her grip is firm under her knees and behind her back.

" Ladies and Gentlemen, this is how you carry a princess".

Then they laugh and the flower petals fly away with their breaths.

*

The next morning, at dawn, Kiana Kaslana vanished. There's no trace of her anywhere in the house, except for a paper bird, folded in half, with an inscription in hurried handwriting and a touch of recklessness.

"Follow the wind to meet me again".

The anguish Mei felt as she stood up alone immediately melt. Before falling asleep the night before, she had begun writing a set of elegies at her side. It seemed that in her previous life, she had been a diligent student, praised by her teachers and lusted after by the boys of her class. However, she had the rather undesirable nickname of Thunder Queen. Kiana couldn't contain her laughter as she described the details. As she wrote it out in succession, her fingers kept twitching. To be sure, Kiana had bandaged and cleansed each of them for the umpteenth time. Still, this nervous habit persisted. She had read in a newspaper article that the consequences of traumatic amnesia could manifest themselves in various ways, and tremors were one of the symptoms. So were her recurrent nightmares. That night, though, it was Kiana who woke up in a cold sweat. Without a word, she hugged her and they went back to bed.

Yet something had given Mei the impression that Kiana was hiding something important from her.

She sits on the edge of a wooden chair and stares at the flowers through the window. Their colors seem iridescent. A procession of poetry stands before her cursed eyes. Their ephemeral fairy tales sweep the wind, the gentle breeze surrounds their foliage and brushes them away. They sink and strive, never giving up. Mei slipped through Kiana's mess and emerged into the garden. A child, letter in hand, greets her from across the street. She waves him over and he offers her a bouquet with a scrap of paper. Mei offers him a handful of gold coins in return. He jumps to his feet, overwhelmed, thanks her a thousand times over, then runs off screaming his mother's name.

Her first delight comes with the equinox.

She kneels down and sprinkles the silent petals with a careful movement. Fragile creatures, snatches of dreams abandoned in arid lands. Poets sing her elegies in the same way, in rhymes broken on the continents of her existence. She imitates the romantic lover, her lips stretched into Cupid's bow with the same passion as Apollo's to Hyacinth. The next second, she blinks and drops the can.

"What the..." she rubs her head, "Where am I?"

Arrows from the God of Love have penetrated her heart, her entanglement lingering as she wanders back to the paper bird. Again, she read the words from Kiana's hand and pondered.
Indeed, she was about to go there.

She contemplates the lonely spot in wait for the long-awaited swing, then glances at her tainted money.

Perhaps...

The poems she has written trace veins on her arms. They rise with her breath, with her bloodstream. Memories flow in an unstable river. She leaves the room and puts on her shoes.

"My sword..." she searches in vain, then remembers that Kiana is waiting for her, so thinks again: "I'll ask her when she comes back."

She strides over the damp grass and notices the crowd around the nomad residence. They offer her smiles or greetings, shower her with praise, each making sounds of joy and whispering about her beauty. As she descends the hill, they are drowned by the violet sea. The darkness consumes them.

Acheron continues on her way.

Near the stream, it's pouring in. Diluvial currents interrupt the sleep of the songbirds. The wind dies down for a moment, the paper plane glides into the river and follows its flight path. At the far end, she finds her sheath, entwined with leaves and stems. The sword lies beneath. Upon its return, she regains a sense of content.
At the village, a shower of hyacinth is poured over her head. The storm rumbles on, bolts of lightning break the veil of a scattered night. She raises her hand and eradicates this realm of dreams. She reaches out to a shadow fragment and helps it cross the shore of the departed, but when that memory vanishes at the edge of the shore, she leaves a stray tear. The compass wheel twitches in the hollow of her palm, damp with grief; the path to the Imaginary Tree beckons her gaze. Warriors don't choose their blades, but rather their blades choose them. Just as people don't choose their destiny, but rather their destiny chooses them... This is why she is pushed to the side of a mountain, falls with the nightingales and splashes a group of fishermen. They flee as if they'd seen a ghost, and the paper bird continues to fly. Then she does the same.
At the end of her journey, the faint golden light sweeps across a glade. The canopy is miles wide, the trees sumptuous, they all form a family that splits at the middle into a valley with a wooden hut, weathered by time. Perched on the last floor of the ruined house is the most magnificent woman who has ever lived.
In Fresbass's letters, her grief is fleeting: she's lost her sense of taste, her perception of touch, she's abandoned her hunger, her thirst, her will. She has ceased to love.

The tree goddess turns, waltzes on a fragile stem. Her fingers caress the rough wood.

"Have you found the answer to your quest?"

She nods.

" I am truly grateful for this dream."

It's raining even under the house of evergreens.

"Even if I would have liked it to have lasted a little longer"

The goddess curls her hands, and a tiny bird hatches. Its wings flutter, its shackles too heavy to lift it above the sky. She breathes a golden draught, encouraging him onward. He whistles, his beak out in the fierce wind. The moon's tunes, perched on his sizain soul, lead him to a bright future.

" Return to your hope, my fledgling. To the theater of thunder, the object of your longing may be. A collection of prose, worship for my dear daughter and imprint from my Art, shall guide your darkness path. You'll find tonight's sky filled with a thousand jewels, so catch the fallen star, my dear traveler. They may never be two".

She is caught in a kind of haze. With a nod, she accepts and takes a few steps back. The forest throws her back, she staggers as the paper bird pierces her chest. Memories flood back with the blood of her sins.

She cradles a bouquet of lilies to her heart. Her hair up in a ponytail, a cup of wine is handed to her, which she declines with an air of candor. Her father pulls her against his shoulder, and scolds the curious guests.

The music swells.

She's grown up, and her footsteps are now able to ink the mud. Her grief turns quiet, into mysterious melodies. She witnesses the armored soldier curled up on the ground, his expression torn by agony. Before ending him, she thinks of his family and the people he will leave behind. Yet this doesn't stop her from striking. All around them, the rubble resembles the crosses of a graveyard. Maybe it's her necropolis, but nothing is left behind.

On a mountain peak, the Moon watches over her crimson cloak. She embraces it in search of warmth. A woman approaches her, her umbrella twirling in her lithe fingers. She laughs at the raspberry scent in the Okron air.
Then everything stops, ushering a new dawn.