Thunderbolts and elegies - SevenFive - 崩坏3rd (2024)

Chapter 1: Author's note

Chapter Text

Hello everyone,

If you've already read the first version, I've deleted it, as I realized I'd made a mistake. Since I write in French and then translate into English (it's easier for me) I changed part of the text in English without realizing that the translator had changed the beginning in French. So I imagine some people must have been confused when they saw that the beginning was in French, and therefore impossible to read, and the rest in English. I wanted to apologize for the inconvenience.

I had planned to write a modified version of Part I before posting the translated Parts II and III, but when I saw this error, I decided to create a separate version with the full text split into chapters, because reading 20,000 words in 3 parts seemed rather long and exhaustive.

If you've read Part I before my error and enjoyed it, I've changed a few paragraphs and added text I felt was necessary for the sake of consistency. I've noted that the text may have seemed a little “ confusing ” due to several factors and I hope that this version will be less so.

Also, I'm going to add content warnings at the beginning of chapters to avoid people concerned by these subjects being uneasy (especially in regard to a flashback which will be in a section where I'll indicate if you need to skip it for personal reasons).

If you're still here, I imagine you're interested in the sequel (or maybe just curious) so I'd like to say that while initially I wanted to write a one-shot about Acheron (and Frebass who I wrote here as Kiana although I don't think they have any real connection) but it ended up being something deeper about Kiana and Mei's relationship. For those unfamiliar with Honkai Impact and its lore, I think it will be difficult to fully understand. Also, Part I focuses on Acheron, but the rest is more about Raiden Mei.

I love to write and want to continue to do so in the future but it's important to me that what I write is of the highest possible quality and, although I don't consider myself a good writer, I hope that those who read this will enjoy their time here.

Thank you very much for your time and understanding.

Chapter 2: PART I. Thunderbolts

Chapter Text

PROLOGUE.

The young girl's dreams are just like her: strange in the way of poems, only for her to understand their purpose. She sees camelias and lilies to lay upon and branches to intertwine her limbs. She draws sunshine to revive her heart, she finds snatches of kisses in the torn pages of her past existence.

Her mother loves her, with a tenderness we can’t define—maybe that’s why the girl still has a soft spot for daylight. Birds worship her steps, allowing her oddity to shine. We cherish her for this specific way of being: abrupt manners and sparkling smiles.

When you follow her as she makes her way through the shadows of the night, she proves with ease that she can fill hearts with joy; especially hers.

This one is an abstraction, born from thunder. Tears of essence rolled on her cheeks during the wrecking times.

Yet very few people know that in an eclipse, when thunder and moon collide, time stops for a fleeting instant.

*

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 valley. After a thousand years of existence, this is where she made her home.

He followed her, even though he was afraid to fly as high as the other birds. Yet, he became a hero. He soared by her side, and 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 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, we called Frebass.”

After so many battles, he doesn't hesitate to approach his companion. Her beauty is such that only a few dare to admire her. For him, nothing changes. She's still the same woman with whom he's fought in vain. They can't change what they were: defeated heroes.

That's all there is to it.

"Once upon a time, in another world, 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 felt. 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 one. Despise of the changing, one thing remains: ode hiss by birds. In the morning, they were singing a poetic melody made of 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 was inevitable. People were looking forward to the girl who was, for an instant, the reason for their hopes. A mountain of red feathers and star scars has emerged from the void. Again, they waited for her. They forged weapons and fought each other. Sentinels have risen, and thunder struck once more, taking the gray clouds and 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 knelt down, her hands quivering with unbearable spasms. Tears rolled down her sword. She lifted it with the last of her strength and turned it to her 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. 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.

She let herself be dazzled by the clear sky. The clouds were immaculate white, and the sun's rays were streaming down from between them. Alone, she lay in a pool of blood while the gods drank in the name of rebirth.

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, and 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 victorious. What god could defeat her now?

The pain made it impossible for her to walk. She crawled on her elbows. She heard a low moan from the rubble. A child was wrapped in white sheets stained with blood. She held him until he died. Then she closed her eyes, wrapped her palms around the hilt of her katana, and waited. A day later, she was still alive, sweat pouring down her body and her flesh bearing the scent of death. Birds pecked at her face, and crows licked the blood from her skull. She was alive. She wanted to curse the world and cry out to the clouds to take her, as they had destroyed everything.

She couldn't cry, 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, and her lips cracked. She stood up. Everything was the same.

She wasstillalive.”

*

"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."

"Well, that doesn't answer the original question. Why do birds sing?" She pauses to look into her friend's dull eyes, and with a tap on the shoulder, she encourages him to continue. "Is it because, like her, they've decided to keep fighting?"

"More or less. Most fake stories are meaningless. But this one is different. In fact, it's not make-believe. In a land we used to call Izumo, there was a girl raised to become a samurai. She had nothing but faith. It was enough for her to conquer, even if her fate was to be miserable."

"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 marvelous lady smiles at Kevin, one finger lifted to touch his cheek. He responds by raising his hand to tear away the stars she's trying to engrave on him. It's been a long time since he felt the sun's fire shine on his skin, so the coldness of the stars is something even more distant.

This land is beautiful. It was built by opponents of the war to honor an old promise. In exchange, nature had shown favor. It gave them fertile land and livestock. Down in the hamlet, people chat, exchange kisses and hugs, greet each other, say goodbye, grow, and perish.

It gives him a strange feeling of loneliness—something he doesn't understand despite years.

"Yes... She begged the gods. Again and again, no one would answer. So, Acheron decided to look for an answer on her own. She went to another world and met a girl. Though she didn't like to call her that, because in her eyes she was much more than a mere girl, 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. His pain is still the same, even after a thousand storms.

"Acheron used to know with inhuman perfection the exact sound of her footsteps and the clear appearance of her shadow. In the solitude of finality, she had encountered a lot of strangers, but none of them were able to equal the endearment she felt 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."

Kevin had met a cool woman. Her words were sharp and hurried, as if something prevented her from lingering. He'd discovered the reason—an almost guiltydelight.

The flow of water continued below, carried by the song of the naiads. The fish glistens, burned by the heat. The water is limpid, its color spared from pollution. He has seen worlds where the human species—or not—has succeeded in destroying the world in its entirety. Depending on the story, the culture, and the language, the reasons varied. In the end, the result was the same.

Annihilation.

A spiraling field of rubble and debris is stored on tombs as shrouds. Broken shards, once frozen tears. Like milestones along life's journey.

The etchings of their souls and the testimony of their existences.

"The young girl also said that this affliction was a part of life. Humanity has to fight, 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. Through their tribulations, they will be able to rise to the status of 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 pink, her face set in a childish pout. It only enhances an already beautiful face.

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 best, she cannot understand.

Perhaps it was a difference in nature. Her friend was a radiant girl, and her destiny was on par with the stars. She owned a galaxy all her own, thus 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 borders. 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 differences. And…

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

Destiny.

Stars.

Skies.

And scars.

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

“What’s your real name?”

And for the second one:

“How do you know so much about other 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 it.

Not to death.

Nor the abyss.

It was from memories.

Humanity tends to forget things.This nameless girl was simply a passenger. Years after years, Acheron wrote her name on papers with her blood, sweat, and tears. A name meant to be forgotten.

She heard it for the first time in her grieving clothes. Migration was about to begin; birds were out of their nests, and ravens feathered their beaks against raging winds. Fallen laments resonate in a 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. Owls looked for sadness but only found despise. In the remains of her broken horns, they search for warmth. She stands, her arms crossed on her chest, eyes closed, and lips too—nobody to talk with now. She was on the planet of Orkron, whose fate was to be destroyed.

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

“Wait. Nihility isn’t finality,” interrupts 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 happens next?”

“Acheron discovers the secret of Okron. On the pursuit of her fallen friends, she saw IX’s outlines, a parallel born from the longing of the nameless girl. Without oxygen, the girl derives from her destination to a strange place. This dangerous trip led to her death, and even if Acheron knew of her finality, she never tried to stop her. She had already seen the determination in people’s eyes. When Honkai left nothing but crumbs, when the only way was to die, hope remained, shining with a hollow light.

The Nameless was human, and as she continues 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 between 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 sharpened from god’s corpses. Under the constellation of crimson scars, she felt her friend’s heart falling.

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

Poets will write them in tragedy, but only Frebass knows that this was their beginning. Even if they kill 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, does she love her? I’m sure this is what you mean!"

"I’m exhausted. I’m leaving," says Kevin, without anything more.

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

Chapter 3: Chapter I

Chapter Text

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.

She then hears a hissing blast and straightens up. In a blink, she becomes aware of the presence of a stranger. The woods behind her fall silent. Is it the person who just brushed across her peach? She wonders if it's Bronya, sister rather than friend - not the kind of person she expects to bump into in the morning light.

Far ago, she was running to escape an agonizing past; by the time she'd given up her name to wander, the memory of who she was had returned. Bronya was a name she kept whispering to herself upon awakening. Her dreams were stifled by their fateful encounter.

Holding her breath, she took a step forward, over the floral stars her hair had let fall.

A woman lies there, eyes closed, lips half-closed, letting out a trickle of blackish blood. She has grown into the landscape, her hair tangled in leaves forgotten by autumn, her mud-stained cheeks unable to prevent her pale complexion to stand out under the subdued light. She chokes on a wheeze, the air around her misty, muffling her vain attempts.

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.

She feels her heart pounding, the warmth of a fallen summer flowing back to her. The stranger bites her already bloody lip, and stares at her as if she can guess her thoughts. They stay like this for a few minutes before the girl kneels down to look for signs of injury. Sparks ignite her fingertips. Butterflies chase them in the darkness, searching for help.

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

A memory seems to spring into her mind as she holds her head and contemplates the crimson glow amidst a sea of white. She feels a pang in her heart, as she does with every subsequent flash. She staggers backwards, one hand covering the painful features of her face. As her savior tries to hold her in place, she lets out a growl of pain and pushes back her grip, teeth clenched. Her bloody fingers left a mark on the other woman's immaculate clothes.

She saw a silhouette drifting between the clouds, transforming into an eagle. A rooftop turns into a spectacle of mournful lamentations, a peaceful town destroyed by a kneeling child. As the blinding light paralyzes her, murmurs echo off the walls of this prison. She hears a faint prayer and the sobs that come with the despair of not being heard.

"Please, I beg you, I want to die".

In the echoes of this fading world, she recognizes this voice. It's her own. In this devious interpretation of her mind, she is nothing more than a shadow devoid of a body to bear her suffering.

She reaches out to help this fragmented memory, but the pieces of the mirror begin to fall away. They splash onto her face and hands, preventing her from seeing the person on the other side.

The wind sweeps over her shattered body. The voice of the person in the woods comes back to her in an outburst of senses.

"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.

"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 ! Tell me how you got hurt. Did someone attack you?”

She remembers coming by road from the north and the cold of neighboring countries. What was she doing there? Was she looking for someone or something? Was she on a quest? Is she even an adventurer? She shakes her head and looks around, torn by the undeniable pain of oblivion.

"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.

It's easy to guess that she has a lighthearted nature, a true free spirit in fact. This makes the stranger curious. Is she someone important in her life? No, it's obvious they've only just met, but...she still has a feeling of déjà-vu. The white hair reminds her of the incandescent flashes in her memory. Since the woman saved her, a part of who she is feels that she owes her. Yes, she owes her. But for what? When someone decides to do something, it's of their own free will, and even if someone else is pushed to act against that free will, it doesn't change anything. In the end, that person's decision is more important than his or her actions. She closes her eyes to probe her mind. It's a bad habit that can put her in danger. It's a habit that she nevertheless thinks is necessary. Without it, she would have begun to drift beyond her control. If she's one of those "people" willing to act of her own free will, she wants to be able to resist the void that lies ahead.

Her progressive amnesia has no origin. She lives with it as one lives with a missing arm or lung. She perceives phantom pain in the form of blinding light and scattered memories. She doubts it's her own consciousness, doesn't recognize herself in the events she sees.

She knows one thing: she's alive - she's breathing, even if it's by jerking and spitting blood. She discerns her rescuer's trembling as their fingers intertwine. The hazy sensation of having already lived through this day intensifies. She meets the white-haired girl's gaze, a warm feeling lingering in her chest.

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 joints. 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.

*

As she approached a cottage framed by ancestral willows with torches to light the way for wayfarers, a rabbit curled into a wooden bench that lay at the bottom of a white cobbled path. To the left, the front door of the humble dwelling is lit by the trembling beam of the nearest light. Ivies have grown in the cracks of the stone slabs. She, in turn, slips between the tall grass and weeds, bearing the weight of the stranger along the path. She's as light as a feather, she thinks, stroking the rabbit's brown fur. Numerous pots of wilted flowers wait around the front of the house, piled on a path that, if followed between the tree trunks, leads to a glade. At the back, the stream flows down from a century-old waterfall. She finds it hard to concentrate on the scenery, as the bitter smell of blood takes over her nose.

As she gets closer, she notices a flickering light through one of the two windows that adorn the exterior wall. She glances at the mailbox, snatches her keys from under the entrance rug and lays the foreign woman comfortably atop the old sofa.

She blows out the candle and rekindles the flames in the hearth. The wind rustles the window, letting in the soft call of fledglings by the shore. She discerns a hesitation in the woman's deep voice. She draws a long breath and then mumbles an apology. A second later, she inspects a large and open wound on the woman's stomach. Blood has dried around a long scar that follows the trail of her abdominal muscles. The wound must have reopened from too much pressure. The daughter of the Tree fetches a sewing set and, without a second's hesitation, sets to work. She's relieved that the wound appears to be fairly recent, less than twelve hours at least, which means she can avoid the risk of infection. If the stranger were to contract septicemia, her meager savings would not be enough to pay the medical expenses necessary to keep her safe. She wipes the needle clean and disinfects it with a tissue once her hands are full of blood.

She gags, her heart slows and her pressure drops. Two drops of blood glisten from her nostrils. She turns, one hand under her nose to restrict the bleeding. As she pulls herself together, she catches sight of the stranger's open eyes.

"You're awake!" she exclaims, wearing a deceitful smile.

The eyelids flicker and close.

The daughter of the Tree falls silent again. She's been studying amnesia for the past few years during her journeys. Although she would have liked to get away from this city, like so many others, she has found herself trapped by what we call habit.

Her fingers run through the purple locks, gliding over the stranger's closed face. She lingers on her lips, then recoils with a jolt of regret. What right has she to do this?

She pulls away, clenching her fists.

Amnesia is a complex phenomenon. There are many variants, including the notable example of neuro-degenerative diseases. She has been unable to find any reliable testimonies or even exact cases. She has read that victims can be physically affected: they can experience mental confusion, be oppressed by the incessant flow of memories that refuse to clear up, in rare cases, the individual can feel like an impostor in a body that doesn't belong to them.

Her whispers die with her questions, doomed to be forgotten.

"Oh...I thought for a moment you recognized me, Mei."

Chapter 4: Chapter II

Chapter Text

Acheron wakes up with a vivid headache. She notices the bruises and stitches on her arms before she realizes that she's lying in an unfamiliar dwelling. She repeats her name in a low voice, barely aware that she had forgotten it. How could anyone forget their own name?

She uses her elbows to pull herself out of the sheets covering her, and clings to the edges of the bed on which she has been left. She smells something burnt and spring-like. A surprising combination that leaves her puzzled. She tries to take a few steps and then becomes aware that the pain she's feeling is actually coming from the area beneath her chest. She lifts the blood-stained blouse and notices bandages of the same scarlet color. The sight of her muscles catches her off guard. Is she not in the agony of hunger? How can she have a sculpted body despite the weakness she senses? Perhaps she's a retired athlete suffering from a severe illness? She can't remember anything, and the more she thinks about it, the worse the pain gets.

She soon determines that she's the only one here. The owner must have gone out to get something to eat. At least, that's what Acheron concludes when she sees the pitiful state of the kitchen: crockery is strewn all over the worktops, the pans have been burnt to a blackish color, and only a handful of stale bread is left in the middle of the chaos.

Stuck in front of this view, she thinks twice about leaving. She tries to reconstruct the last few days in her memory by grabbing a baking pan. She runs a finger over it and notices the layer of grease inside. Her futile reflections lead her into a complete clean-up of the room, and when, some thirty minutes later, she witnesses the result of her efforts, she blinks at the realization. Did she...? Oh. Well, she doubts it's enough to thank the person who came to offer her help, but at least it's a way of indulging her. The pain that tingles her heart bruises as she imagines the white-haired girl's smile. Acheron doesn't even know her name.

She places a hand on her wounded chest and listens to the sharp rustle. She feels so weak that she crouches in the middle of the room, her fingers curled against her bandages. She used to spend her time listening to her mother's voice telling her a love story.

The story was about a knight who came to rescue a princess - he was not allowed to cherish her, but despite prohibitions, he set off in search of a gift to court her. Along the way, he met a colorless butterfly accompanied by a farmer. The farmer told him that the butterfly had lost its color by drifting alone. The knight found this bittersweet: why was the sky preventing such a beautiful creature from shining? He made a proposal to the farmer: he would give him a hefty amount of money, and in exchange, the butterfly would follow him on his journey. He accepted, and the knight set off on the road with his new friend.

Acheron gets up to clean her bloody fingers.

By the end of the story, the knight had forgotten the reason for his stay. Just like her, he left the past behind to cherish something that may seem insignificant.

However, Acheron is not a knight, nor even an iron-willed soldier. She has been many things, and pretended to be even more. She has sailed on the vestiges of many noble names, even hers was once a symbol of virtue. Time has washed away the mere syllables of a name that once embodied a woman that she will no longer be. She leaves the house with a heart heavy of regret and walks down the alley with the impression that a piece of her story has been thrown into oblivion. She follows the flow of the river, listening to the cry of the birds in the canopy. Acheron brushes the jinx petals with her cursed touch and watches them fester in a whisper.

Why ?

Why is she doomed?

Has she perpetrated an unforgivable evil, a sin worthy of death?

If so, why was she spared?

And well...

Why is she alive?

She is half-expecting to catch a whimper of children's screams and sobs, to see blood splattering and ruin collapse at her feet.

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

Instead, all she finds is a figure she never thought she would see again. The story of the day began with her, so Acheron presumes she must be writing the epilogue as well. The ambient air is scorching hot, and with each step she can feel the heat seeping into her lungs.

"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 nameless woman wants to be seen. To be recognized, to be part of the poem that is gradually being written before her eyes. This place is her home, and she must protect what belongs to her, or so she believes. In reality, this feeling of danger is not the one of a prey.

She remains frozen, unable to articulate the words that tremble on her dry lips. When she finally speaks, free of her burden, her voice tremors with tenderness and terror, her panic linger in the back of her neck.

It’s...

It's a desire,

A will of its own.

"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 take a peach from out of 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. You didn't even explain me the reason for your injuries.”

"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" say Acheron, not really sure of the truth of her words.

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

Acheron believes that the smile the girl sends back to her is a blessing to be cherished. She devours the peach in one bite, maintaining her slight candid grin. Once satiated, she raises her head, stars in her eyes, and shows her thumbs up. 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. Acheron places her hand on her shoulder, her fingers hovering cautiously over her skin, refusing to touch.

And yet...

The slight rustle makes her feel alive.

She looks at Acheron 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 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. Acheron 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” she says, but it's a lie.

“I know. That’s why I asked”

She has vague memories of pledging faith to a god in the past. Which god? She's not sure. Maybe it wasn't even a god. The mix-up leaves her feeling unwell. She listens to the girl speak without hearing a sound, her lips move well and truly, drawing out words in the silence of the shrine, whilst Acheron's focus is lost in the contemplation of something else.

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?"

Acheron's gaze lingers on the girl to her right. The name Kiana has the taste of poison, a poison she longs to drink down to the last straw. In fact, she hopes that her agony will be long and painful, that the mere thought of being able to shoulder this burden will bring her a thousand years of suffering. That's what her heart thinks, missing a beat, threatening to stop as her mind wanders to the dream of a fiery kiss.

It must be the poison, muses Acheron as she 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."

“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” a perfect name as sin.

"I'm Kiana. Pleased to meet you."

"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…"

"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.

Chapter 5: Chapter III

Chapter Text

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.

Kiana is a dreamer.

Her world is made up of splashes of color and temptation. Acheron would like to be just as bold. Passionate people are one step ahead of the rest of the world. When everyone starts from the finish line, they start on a fallen branch. Acheron thinks, a lot, it's in her nature. If Kiana knew, she'd encourage her to enjoy life. Souls linger on moments, for fear of being swept away by the flood of finality, and Acheron, too, dreads this finality.

Everything is written, and she believes that the whole picture of existence is being painted by a vicious, whining artist, an adult who has forgotten to emerge from the cocoon of childhood. This person cherishes life, giving it to the fruits of her love, people such as Kiana who, by simply existing, make other people's lives worth living.

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. As she is.

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. The glowing flames have a dazzling radiance. She is tempted by the idea of touching fire. Another of her mindless cravings. The author of this story endowed her with an unfortunate attitude. She'd like to be a little more tender, less focused on the danger lurking in her nights. Perhaps be drawn to something else...

Such a thing as love.

"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 Acheron, 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.

Perhaps…

She has already fall in love.

Chapter 6: Chapter IV

Chapter Text

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."

"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. She talks to her in a low voice, sharing uninteresting stories. Acheron thinks she's pretty, so beautiful she could make her forget the rest of the world. Her eyes twinkle softly, her hands flutter, she's focused and at the same time wide awake to the ambient noise. Acheron wants to extend her hand to remove the wisp from her eyes; she desires to touch the quiver of her lips, to come closer and smell her scent. Acheron wishes to lose herself in the opacity of her purplish irises, to discover the infinity of her galaxy and make it her own. At the same time, she’s willing to belong to it.

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 apparently" she said in a tone of jest, her eyes half-closed, her lips lulled by the smoke of tea.

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..

H er.

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.

Kiana 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, her curtain slowly falling apart. “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.

Chapter 7: Chapter V

Chapter Text

Acheron has survived a lot of things. 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…

Oh...

*

" 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.

Panic has grown in her heart into a bud she's unable to stop. Her hands are sweaty, her thoughts cacophonous. She denies the feelings she thinks unworthy yet discerns, a sensation of greatness. There's something painful about these withheld emotions. Kiana is beautiful, so beautiful that Acheron prefers to deny her existence. She hopes there's sorrow in the wind that rustles their hair, sorrow for all the things left unsaid in her heart, for all the failed deeds and hopes.

"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.

It's unholy. It shouldn't be.

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.

Chapter 8: Chapter VI

Chapter Text

The world is full of silent murmurs and 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.

What a strange sight.

*

The next day, at dawn, they honored the first buds on the ground. It's a strange sight that leaves Acheron thinking there's a beginning to everything. It's obvious, but all she's ever seen is the end of all anything. She regrets her words but is unable to steal them from time. It's the kind of regret that lingers throughout a lifetime, in the form of a legacy; a legacy of loss.

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.

In the end, it's only a metaphor that few can understand.

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 and she feels threatened by the mere thought.

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

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…

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

"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.

"If you say so."

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"

"...Fine, I'm listening"

Acheron interrupts before she bursts into tears.

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

"You remember that."

"I'll follow you."

Chapter 9: Chapter VII

Chapter Text

"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.

Her eyes mist with confusion. She has the impression of being back in Izumo, under stormy skies and amid broken birdsong. She searches through the air in front of her, hands trembling as she hunts for a stray item.

"What?"

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

"It's no good joking about dead people. She's long gone," says Acheron, her voice a hoarse mess of pain.

Acheron's irises sparkle. Her mouth twitches.

"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…"

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.

Nothing remained of her.

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...

Acheron didn't want to wake up from her nightmare. Fear filled her, but at least she could keep the scattered ashes of Frebass. Her heart capsizes, the dread in the back of her throat, she stands at the sinking edge of a boat.

Is she in the Underworld?

Kiana's dazzling gleam hits her.

She finds herself on a 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, unable to take her eyes off it. The change is obvious. It tears her heartstrings.

The stars transcend the sky. She admires the breathtaking view, sick with the journey of existence. She's seasick, sweeping the cloudy water with her fingertips. It's like at the River Acheron, where she used to collect gold coins in exchange for the corpses of the dead.

Kiana brought her here, the landscape soothes her pain even though she has no memory of having been there. It may be a dream, but not a nightmare.

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.

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.

"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."

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.

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

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

"Well…"

Chapter 10: Chapter VIII

Chapter Text

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

Perhaps...

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"

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.

Chapter 11: PART II. elegies

Chapter Text

The Tree of Life watches over the world,

The world lies in wait for its master's return,

On the filthy decay,

With an end in sight,

Terminus dawns.

The future of this train is anyone's guess.

It follows a well-trodden path,

On bloody slabs it is blessed by the gods,

With names known to spectators,

Reason, emptiness, thunder, wind, ice,

Stars, sentience, domination, corruption, death,

Origin and finality.

At the necropolis where paths mingle,

Two souls dance for a last embrace.

‘A prophecy destined to be fulfilled’

*

INTERLUDE/

"Frebass, the Nameless from Toyro, died for fourteen days and nights.

She forgot the cries of seagulls, the roar of the abyss,

The gains, and the losses."

The planet of Okron was a haven of peace until the time of its demise. This decline was known as nihility, a phenomenon well-known to all and appreciated by some. However, it had no place in a land as peaceful as Okron.

It had come under the yoke of a comet. The comet had become a woman, a human whose hunger drove her to camp by a bonfire and celebrate all the things she loved about existence.

The nihility held the hand of a child from Toryo, a tiny planet made of grass and dew. Like her planet, the girl was unimportant; nameless. As a Nameless, she wanted to accomplish a deed worthy of transcending the ages.

Toryo was her cradle where Okron was destined to be her grave.

Seen from space, Okron looked like a second Saturn, surrounded by iridescent rings and asteroids reminiscent of scarlet snowflakes.

On her rusty steel helmet, it was momentarily rain of blood and eroded memories, like the earth of the desolate planets where they had once stopped. She sat before the flames, cotton candy in hand, ready to consume a rosy dream. She laughed too, and her companion laughed at her slackness. The frozen air floated through the cedar forest. Frebass looked at these trees with a smile, this protective abode where she decided to leave her courage and wisdom. Once upon a time, they were said to be home to gods. She felt safe just thinking about it.

The gods never failed, she thought.

She would also be ready when the day came, ready to keep her eyes open to contemplate the darkness that inhabited the universe. She clutched her medallion of honor, her eyes crinkling into a smile. It was the twentieth day of their stay, only ten to go. In these fleeting moments, she knew her companion's fear, and bravery too, of the time that threatened them both.

She sometimes regretted lying to Acheron.

A dream is just a dream; once annihilated, it disappears from the mind. She wouldn't stay long enough to haunt the bones of her dear friend, nor even to float on the shore she claims preserved.

She sings, to the whistle of Acheron, to the sound of the distant flute and the guitar she bought for a handful of gold. Their voices unite as the sound of two twisted fledglings. The marshmallows burn on the wooden stakes, cradled by deadly petals of flaming red.

A blazing fire, a blooming flower, the berries of a cave eclipse a reclusive world.

_

Frebass relishes the desolation of this fallen-world shore alongside Acheron. She passes a beach strewn with stranded corpses and lowers her eyes to the bloody footprints that mark the path. The sound of repeated blows comes from the offshore cliff. By following the beach, they will arrive at their final destination. An inhuman abyss ruled by a statue of once-human flesh. Corruption has spread along the fingers to the nails, grown into claws. An ebony liquid with the smell of putrid blood drips into the raging waves.

Acheron kneels down, her umbrella held over her to protect her from the surging sky. She offers her hand to the sea, which responds with a fierce surge. Frebass grabs her elbow and turns her back to the bliss. When Acheron steps aside to face her, Frebass wears a twisted expression. The face of someone bent on vanishing. But far from resolved to lose what's dear to her.

She brushes against Acheron's forehead and notices a wound where her blood has already clotted. She frowns under her straw hat. Her fingers linger on the wound, wondering if she'll see a scar. She refuses to see Acheron's body become the altar of her sins. As her expression betrays sorrow, Acheron takes her hand and squeezes it against hers with a faint grin. The smile they exchange is, at least, painful.

They reminisce about their idleness.

Frebass was seeing machaon butterflies again, like the one she'd seen in the valley that had led her to Izumo - to the ruins of a world where she'd found a broken soul.

Acheron wasn't quite the kind of person she'd hoped to meet, she was defined by agony like no other human being, yet just witnessing her spread salve over her wounded body had been enough for Frebass to decide to make her a hopeless promise. She held her breath, teeth clenched, not a trace of pain in her dull eyes.

Frebass had given her the name Acheron, a new identity for a new journey. She had asked her if she wanted to live and why she wanted to live, to which the orphan of the broken world had no answer.

In the glow of the embers, she gave Acheron a garment: a blood-stained cloak, identical to the one draped over the bodies of the travelers. What she didn't know was that it would serve as a vestige for all the future Nameless of this universe.

Acheron's tender smile appeared for the first time in the shadows of this rain-drenched cave.

It was…

Shattered and so different from Frebass's memories.

It was enough to make her heart skip a beat. She was seduced by her willingness to move forward and by her eyes, which had the tint of oblivion. She gave her food and asked her to taste it, dreading to learn the truth behind Acheron's vague answers.

She sways on tiptoe, inebriated by the fragrance of bitter salt floating in the shore's atmosphere. She sings a lullaby to the gusts of wind born of the never-ending rain.

Frebass shows Acheron the footprints of nihility; bodies have been dragged there, by the feet from the way the blood has marked the sand. Acheron appears anguished.

This is not in her nature.

Frebass takes her hand and kisses her fingers.

"Say."

A hum escapes Acheron's lips.

"Let's never say farewell. Let's just smile, okay? Everything ends well with a smile!" says Frebass, her trusty Cupid's bow to her lips.

She remembers that cave, the cave to whence Acheron would later return - not to mourn her, but to continue what she'd initiated, something Frebass would be unable to fathom.

That moment, her gaze numb at the look of Acheron curled up on that thin silk sheet, Frebass understood that she was going to die for her.

She tore her heart from her own hands and admired the blood flowing between her torn knuckles. She offered it to her in a closed cage, like a bird with hope-filled feathers.

Ah...

Such a cruel and splendid sight.

Frebass collapses in an eerie haze, her body shredded, her heart burning, the ounces of her being scattered one by one. Her soul screams - no, she laments. The pain is brutal, piercing her like two bolts of thunder. Static electricity rattles her flesh before it finally breaks altogether. She feels a strange sense of comfort and then, as if death is finally upon her, a blade stained with tears pierces her chest. She lets out an agonized moan, her fingers clenching on the katana's hilt.

Acheron smiles at her.

With a final sigh, she wraps her fingers around the glass bottle and drinks and sips like a hopeless alcoholic in search of eternal venom. This remedy for loneliness plunges her body into a succinct dream amidst the fruits of decay. Her extinguished soul creates sparks in the starry sea, the elixir nourishes the darkness; poison flows through her divine veins.

Time flies, weaving new possibilities into the branches of the tree. Hopes and tragedies. Love and downfall.

Frebass is reborn in the camellias of the trees. A voice strikes her as tender and melancholy. She opens her eyes and sees her future shadow, a wave carried by the breeze of the unknown. Behind her, a flame in a woman's body carries her away. Her fiery red hair reminds her of Izumo's flames, but with a warmth that appears nowhere else.

The bright red stranger asks her name. The gilded flowers in her hair bewitch Frebass.

She smiles with her golden eyes. Frebass's throat is double-sealed.

She says nothing.

The red rose has thorns that can make her heart bleed. Frebass believes herself able to overcome hardship; today is her trial. She rubs the outstretched hand, burning her fingers. She staggers, gasps, her soul is ashes. Flames taunt her from beyond the edges. She takes a step forward, the firebrand that serves as her soul begins to disintegrate. The woman springs from the hurricane, rescuing her from the embrace.

"You'll be all right"

Kiana watches Himeko caress her cheek, a tear pearls on her lips. She leans down to rest her forehead against hers - and in the last throes of this crumbling world named Pegana, she whispers to her.

"You must go. Return to her, she's waiting for you."

*

Acheron makes her way to the shore of oblivion and meets a man with no name, a friend of the galaxy's rangers. He declares a prophecy worthy of Apollo, a story that has every right to be out of a dream.

She's all broken pieces of memory, and the blood on her fingers remains. Yet he tells her that rain is recollection, that no matter the roads taken, the gods have sorrow for them.

Thus, she takes the rangers' belongings, recalls Frebass's face and, hands knotted on a batch of spare wisps of history, sets off into the unknown.

Chapter 12: Chapter IX

Chapter Text

When Mei wakes up, the room is filled with glass candles. The light flickers under her rimmed eyes. She quickly realizes she's not in a dwelling but inside a barn. Hay scratches the bare skin of her legs. In the early morning chill, roosters crow and cows make low sounds of contentment. It's dawn and the sun is burning her eyes. On a mound not far away, the pink woman of her dreams appears to her in the form of an illusion. Her smile is tender among these arid clods of earth. She calls her name several times before Mei decides to stand up.

Her whole body aches, she feels a sharp tingling in the hollow of her chest. She imagines her heart has been ripped out of her chest, since she feels nothing. Suffering is futile.

At least this landscape belongs to her.

The woman introduces herself as Elysia.

A splendid name for a splendid woman. Although Mei finds the comment somewhat inappropriate, she has to admit it's the truth. Anyone would swoon at the mere thought of touching such beauty. But that's precisely what makes her an elusive creature.

Her face remains blurred, as if it refuses to accept Mei's gaze. She rubs her eyes several times to make sure it's no longer a dream. She wants to ask her if her name is Frebass, because even if Mei knows nothing of this world, she keeps this name buried in the depths of her being.

She asks if she remembers why she's in this state, to which Mei shakes her head. She doesn't remember, but what's strange is that she doesn't care more than that. She should be puzzled by the idea of being unknown to herself, of relying on a dream woman to remind her of her identity. Yet she feels at ease. Everything is strange: this idle landscape, this woman's way of laughing, almost like a glass shattered by time, her light breath echoing in Mei's memory.

Elysia tells her about a meadow to the west of the hamlet where she should rediscover her sense of self. Mei remained skeptical. How could she remember anything by going for a walk in a meadow? She...isn't a farmer. At least, she doesn't think she is.

Her attire suggests otherwise, and even if it hasn't surprised her so far, she's carrying a weapon. A fine sword in a particularly patterned scabbard. In contrast, Elysia is dressed in a spring dress and laurel wreath, while her feet are bare.

When she asks where she is, Elysia remains neutral. From her facial expression, the question disturbs her. Is Mei a hostage? No... Why would she let her go then? None of this makes any sense.

For a woman who exults deeply in life, Elysia seems to be hiding a lot of things.

She walks across the grass and leads Mei to the edge of the cliff. As expected, the view is splendid. The light embraces the landscape below, the tiles of the village houses bathed in a golden halo.

Children play together by a stream, splashing and laughing in unison. A boy comes along and throws rose petals into the air, raining down on his friends and on the fish in the water. She turns and sees Elysia leaning towards the abyss, a pink tulip tucked close to her ear. She holds her by the waist, afraid she'll disappear below. The woman laughs in response. Life must be a game to her. Mei steps back, dazed. What was so funny about that? She frowns and refrains from commenting.

Elysia brushes against her shoulder and beckons her to look at a house barely visible behind the shapeless mass of trees. A girl sits on the doorstep, eyes closed, listening to the wind smile. The pain in Mei's heart deepens, and she holds her breath as she gasps and coughs to death. Elysia holds her arm and helps her stand up straight.

"Do you like birds, Mei?" she asks her.

Two birds burn the pages of a poem to perch on her shoulders. Mei watches their silent eyes. They stare at her for a long time before the one on the left decides to chirp. It has pink-tinged fur and immaculate wings. Just like the person keeping him awake. On the other side, it's a juvenile sparrow in a snowy cape. The tumult of intermingled voices from below prevents Mei from hearing the white chick's timorous voice. Seized with curiosity, she blinks in Elysia's direction, which amuses the other woman.

"They do like you!"

"Ah...?

"Mei's a pretty woman, so it's only natural they like you anyway."

They walk back down the aisle after a few more minutes of observation. Mei immediately misses the nostalgic landscape. Elysia's ghostly touch on her back makes her skin tingle. She feels as if she's been torn from her home. Even though, in reality, she doesn't know this place or these people. She just...

"Is something bothering you, my dear Mei?" whispers Elysia.

She hands her a plate full of food, a colorful mix of peppers, curry rice and chicken. Mei's stomach churns.

"Excuse me, I'm not very hungry."

Outside, a white-haired man crosses the alley pushing a wheelbarrow. He doesn't look like a frail person yet this simple effort is enough to cover him in sweat. He stops for a moment to contemplate the plants planted the day before. The seeds lie in a visible lump despite the earth covering them. His gaze hints at his thoughts, as he ponders how long it will take for the buds to grow.

"Do you like gardening, Mei?" asks Elysia, sitting down in the chair opposite her.

"I can't remember. I...are these buds going to manage to bloom?"

Elysia rests her chin on her hand and dedicates a smile to her.

"Ah...only time will tell. It's not good to be too impatient, you know?"

Mei nods.

Her split lips want to express her thoughts, but she continues to hold them in.

She's convinced she's imprisoned herself like this before. Behind her, the kettle rattles. Elysia rises to prepare a tea flavored with spring flowers.

"It's for your headaches."

"How..." Mei licks her lower lip, "Uh..thanks"

"It's only natural...Whatever, would you like to thank me in some other way?" declares Elysia then she disappears in a flash and reappears like a shadow at Mei's back, her fingers tangle in the purplish hair before moving down to the mark on the pale nape of her neck, "I'd love it if you'd do something for this humble lady."

Mei shudders.

"'Something'?"

Lips pinched, Elysia leans over to tuck a lock of Mei's hair back behind her ear, "Do you remember the abode behind the forest?"

"Of course."

"I'd like you to pay a visit to the lovely lady who lives there "

"Why?"

"She's just had a swing installed at the back of her house. Why don't you go and try it for me? I've got so much work today, unfortunately I don't have a chance to greet her myself. Do it for me, will you? You shouldn't have too much trouble getting there on your own. I believe in you, Mei."

Each time she utters her name, she lets the sound roll off her tongue to savor the sensation of the sound emanating from it. It makes Mei queasy. She doesn't have the strength to refuse and leaves after eating her meal. She takes a few steps outside before collapsing to her knees. The man she saw earlier rushes over and offers her his hand. She thanks him as he stares at her strangely.

"I thought you were someone else," he articulates before running away.

His white hair reminds Mei of a distant memory. She recalls fragments of broken tears and a fading moon. Brambles intertwine and obstruct the shattered pictures. In contrast, she hears the voice of a girl who claims to be named Kiana. Her whisper is like a summer breeze that carries her to the other side of the woods. Unafraid of the wolves rumbling behind her, she simply closes her eyes and follows the reflection of the smile that appears in the dim gloom.

She moves forward without hesitation. Grass scratches her legs, blood runs down her exposed skin, ephemeral pain mingles with the wind's cries amidst birdsong. The two fledglings follow her footprints in the damp mud and kiss her wounds. And so, with their breaths, the wounds heal and time passes in thousandths of scattered seconds.

She emerges from the vast fields, followed by the two sparks. Gold drenches the tall grass around her, and she stretches out her arms, letting herself be carried away by the surrounding warmth. To reach the house to the west, she still has to cross a wooden bridge. Her steps are supple and her fingers twirl on the flickering ropes. The waterfall to her left releases petals of water that wet her knuckles. In the natural sunlight, these droplets look like stars.

The bridge is barely two meters high, enough to make her afraid of falling, but not enough to prevent her from leaning over the edge to catch a glimpse of the stream below. The water trickles in frothy waves over the pond's fish. Above appear a line of trees overhanging eroded rocks. A gigantic shadow darkens the landscape for a moment, immense wings flapping in the wind. The scarlet color of the wyvern's scales gives it a whimsical appearance. Again, Mei holds her breath to admire it.

Splendid things come to a hasty end,

The silhouette disappearing behind misty clouds.

Below, on a rocky shore, a fisherman has lit a campfire to bake his prey. He smiles at Mei as she looks at him and calls out to her to come closer. She refuses with a nod, responding to his joy with a slight upturn of her lips. The thought is vain, since euphoria is impossible to feign.

As she continues on her way, she thinks of the dangers of a life of adventure. Eating your fill, fighting bloodthirsty creatures and hoping to find a decent home seem like harsh duties. However, this is how warriors imagine life: a myriad of peril and heartbreak, and above all an haven of idleness and delight.

In the hamlet where the residents of these lands live, food comes from grain fields and hunting. Vegetation reigns as much as we respect it.

She starts hissing.

It's a good life, isn't it?

But Mei has no heart.

The rain took it from her to tear it into stars near a full-blooded moon, as a depart.

"Aren't you lost?"

If searching for her all her life was a journey, it was ending now.

She's lost on a path made of laughter and warm embraces. Her torn soul wants to grasp that light, to melt in it. She wishes to contribute to the verse that makes the prose of this life possible.

Mei is just a elegy, how could she be a part of this dreamscape ?

" I'm... " she stumbles over her words, " You've got a swing, I hear... "

"Ah yes! Did you come to try it out? It's usually children who come to ask me, although I don't mind good company" replies Kiana.

"Elysia sent me".

"I know" she holds out her hand to her, "I promised her to welcome lost spirits, I imagine you're one of them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

Their fingers intertwine once more.

Time slows down, the train delays in the interval of an era we once believed to be at an end. In this hurried in-between time, the sensations of today mingle with those of yesterday. The gods - could they be the gods of Izumo or the Herrschers from beyond the grave? Have given a tomorrow to the possibilities. Mei...

Mei, she cherishes the love that inhabits this moment, a senseless fondness. Kiana Kaslana is an immortal home. Whatever Mei may become in the future, her existence may be shaken by the wave that burns souls or the suffering of the whole land, what compose her and Kiana belong to the same genesis.

Mei is aware that there is an end to all things, and that this passion is a vain state of her ego.

Nevertheless, she sees it as a refuge, an essential part of the identity puzzle she's trying to piece together. Mei doesn't know what she is. She knows what she loves, she knows that Kiana taught her to breathe.

Without her, she a wreck of ashes, she’s something aching, a pain born by the mere thought of being. Even if she perishes on that hill of adulation, she will have lived in the very hope of having beloved.

"Then welcome home, Mei-senpai"

Chapter 13: Chapter X

Chapter Text

The passage of time is so swift. She can't remember how long it's been since she realized how fast the minutes went. Did seconds go by so quickly when she was a child? Winter's already here and she feels that if she blinks for just one second, it'll already be warm enough for most of her friends and family to decide to go on summer vacation. It's scary in a way, she can't stop time or even do anything about it. Whether she decides to stand still or run doesn't change a thing. Time goes on and on at an alarming rate.

A god reigns over a land foreign to her own, and she meets them in an illusion. Terminus is the name they use to call this god across the starry sea. It bears her face, the angelic figure of a woman with a blur of features and white wings. Terminus's voice is one of sorrow, while Kiana's remains peaceful despite the torments of her era.

Kiana asks Terminus the reason for this vain creation. The Aeon answer with another question.

"Why do birds fly?"

A rhetorical question from age to age. From Icarus to the remnants of a near future. The answers are as diverse as the branches that form the original tree. As daughter and heiress of the Tree Goddess, Kiana has no answer to this conundrum.

Terminus, in dismay, allows her to descend from the stars to the land of humans.

_

She grasps the hand joined to her own. The palm is fierce to the touch, but it comforts her. Warmth would bring her home if she were drowned by the sea. A thought she ponders as she submerges. It's impossible for her to catch the shadow fleeing between the woods. Shades of red merge into white in near-perfect harmony.

She's pierced by a thousand swords, the unbearable wail of pain jolting her body from the chains of fate.

"Do you like it?"

She spits out a mouthful of blood. She yearns to remember this moment a thousand years hence, exulting and swooning at the nostalgia about to be born.

"Yes."

She's at the firing squad, her hands, she tied them tight herself. She held the rope between her bloody teeth to bind the knot of her devastation. Before her stands a coffin crowned with flowers, if not her own, then whose?

Her beloved has a talent for demise.

Her body blossomed into a withered bud while her soul became hopeless nothingness. She was also talented at living; the most painful thing is to bear this in mind. Death takes all but the dying breath. When death is on a hospital bed, the youth still borrowed from the features of the departed, it's a tragedy. When it's a doomed man's death, it's a retribution. Raiden Mei committed slaughters, so how should Kiana Kaslana name her burial? She didn't live long enough, nor does anyone else. In the eyes of survivors, death is still only death, whether it's the end of a long suffering or a life of joy. Sometimes it is wanted, in illness or in the endless ache of human existence. In such cases, it leaves an empty mourning. A silence that shouldn't be.

"If saving you is a sin..."

-

The room is silent, the whisper of the wind pushes the pages of a calendar faded by time. The date flips, the years pass, people wither and fade, their limbs harden, shrink, and turn into dust to be blown away. Kiana remains inked to the day she arrived too late.

The calendar reverts to a fixed year, a single day, a festive 7th of March, full of sunshine and merriment. Millennia ago, this date marked renewal and, 10 years before this very day, the end of her struggle. 2027 is a year Raiden Mei had hoped to celebrate with her friends and newly-wedded wife. However, fate had once again played tricks on her.

After waiting eight long years, she was finally allowed to demand Kiana Kaslana's hand in marriage - news that came as no surprise to anyone involved, as their relationship had been common knowledge beforehand. Despite her apprehension and many misgivings after so long a distance, she took the bold step. Encouraged by the young students in her class, Mei had prepared an unforgettable event and an over-priced ring, which she left to blaze in her velvet vault.

Nowadays, she wears it on her left-hand ring finger and puts her lips on it to reminisce the happiness of those moments of sinking uncertainty.

Her radiance made Mei think of her wife, ready to brighten her every day, even if she sometimes had to hide her sadness from her. The vulnerability of Kiana is something Mei knows, something she cherishes as much as her heroism and cheerfulness. She enjoys seeing her flush and lose her temper despite their two years of marriage, and Kiana continues to take care of Mei as she did on the first day.

They say age changes people. Raiden Mei thought they were wrong.

Then, she fell ill. A deadly disease, in her blood, in her soul, in all the ounces that unite her to the one she is fond of.

She admires the sun's reflection on the dirty hospital tiles and dreams of the birds musing outside. The steady rustle of the medical device to her left rings out over and over again. The smell of medicine sickens her. The perfusion line connected to her arm shakes as she tries to stand up and look out of the window. The wheels screech, the blood flow races across the white-marked screen. The vein in her ring finger pulses with the increase of her heart rate.

“Mei !”

His wife comes storming in, red-rimmed and sweaty from running. She smiles at her as Mei sits down on the bed. Kiana stops in the doorway and gives her a shy wave. There's something alarming about her thin grin.

The nurse stands behind her, notebook against her chest as her expression drops at the sight of her patient. Mei tries to stand up to ask what's wrong when suddenly she is seized by a violent coughing fit. Her lungs hiss and she turns deathly pale.

Kiana is about to run towards her when Mei starts spitting blood onto the bed sheets.

The tension in the room drops to an abrupt halt.

The nurse's face sheds its last remaining color. She crosses her patient's blurred gaze and they both understand straight away. Such is the pain that Mei struggles to keep her eyes open. She grits her teeth, a groan escape her lips. But right now, she doesn't know if it's her voice breaking or Kiana's, left behind on the other side. Mei's torment seems futile to her; she can only imagine the thoughts of her wife and the anguish gathering inside her body, only to possess every fiber of her being for the next few hours. She already swooned at the thought of Kiana being alone on the fateful day she heard her verdict. She almost laughed, in fact, how could such a thing happen? Well, how could you suddenly hear someone tell you that your life was going to end in a few months?

Her nurse had spoken to her with ironic optimism, telling her one simple thing. You'll live six months at worst. A year, at best.

But why?

Mei's mother had lung cancer.

And, for some reason, her daughter contracted the same disease as an adult. Was it an irony of fate or a family curse? She lived an unashamedly non-smoking life, enjoyed regular exercise and - although occasional bouts of drunkenness did occur, Mei didn't consider herself a person capable of excessive consumption. She knew little about her mother.

Her only legacy had become this illness, and Mei, in her breathless suffering, wanted to blame the only thing her mother had left. To do so would be to betray the one who made her.

She refuses to feel sorry for herself.

She refuses to be weak as she once was.

If it's going to be an uphill battle, then fine. She's Raiden Mei, what hadn't she already fought?

The diagnosis was an easy one. After a visit for breathing difficulties, Mei guessed from the doctor's dismay that it was a serious illness. At first, she didn't worry about it - who hadn't kept a few sequels from the Honkai years? Soon, her condition had worsened to the point where she could no longer teach her students on the battlefield. After only a brief effort, she felt an acute discomfort in her chest. Her physical activity had to be stopped abruptly. Her body could no longer bear the strain. Once she'd started to lose weight, Bronya persisted in asking her about the matter. When she learned the truth, she made it clear that, despite the distance between her and Kiana, the other woman must know. The next day, Kiana returned from the moon station, and the following month, they became engaged.

Word got around. Well, it certainly did.

Even if Mei didn't want to ruin their wedding, the signs were there: a persistent cough she claimed to be in the process of recovering from a cold - first stab, breathlessness and a sinking feeling - second stab; right in the chest. Her wife loved to stare at her, she distinguished her features in the dark and in the blinding light, she knew Mei's body as her own. Still, Kiana had only been there a short time, and what could she have imagined in just a few weeks, if not the first signs of a benign pathology?

One day, an accident occurred.

Mei fainted during a day's work. Since she was unwilling to worry Kiana, she made regular visits to the school and gave lessons in the afternoon. On this particular day, she was admitted to hospital on an urgent care ward for severe cardiac failure and respiratory distress. The results of the tests were unequivocal: she had been suffering from a generalized expiratory wheeze and dyspnoea for several months. The doctors noted the presence of a 5-centimetre lung tumour causing inflammation of the lung tissue.

On the paper, Kiana understood only the bold print, which indicated stage 2A cancer. The specialists explained the situation, the treatment options and the risks involved, but she heard nothing. She was unable to concentrate on anything except her shaking hands and the flickering words underneath.

Mei had lied to her...

No, Mei hadn't told her anything, that was the cruelest part.

Kiana looks at Mei. She looks at the woman she's always loved, the woman who, in two months' terms, won't even be able to give her a smile. She's seized by a heart-rending sense of unfairness. She wants to cry, she wants to scream, she wants to ask the world why their lives always have to be miserable.

Why can't they be happy?

Why can't…

“Ms. Kaslana, I'd like to..”.

"Could...could we be alone for a moment? Please" asks Kiana, her eyes closed.

The nurse agrees then shuts the door behind her.

"Kiana" calls Mei in a pained voice.

Kiana flutters forward to see the pill on the bedside table. She approaches and sits down on the bed without uttering a word. She gestures at Mei to open her mouth and helps her take the medicine. They know that this only serves to prolong Mei's condition, yet they keep on praying. In this hospital with its immaculate walls and the smell of death, their only joy is to hope.

“Two months... right?” she says with a touch of bitterness, “It's like…”

Mei shakes her head, her eyes glisten with tears.

“Please don't say that.”

“It's like you've taken my place" Kiana finishes, "Like you're going to die for me, Mei.”

“I'm not, it's nothing to do with that, it's…”

“Nothing to do with it? Are you making fun of me? Two months! Two f*cking months, Mei! It's...” She struggles to breathe in a state of confusion, “It's exactly the same…”

Mei can barely articulate her next words. Tears roll down her hollowed cheeks. Kiana extends her hand to wipe them away, but her fingers quiver so much she can't do much. She lingers on her skin, this paper skin that tears day after day. Her palimpsest, she dares to call it, because she rewrote her prequel in Nagazora, because Kiana saved Mei from a foreword end.

But that wasn't enough…

When did Kiana Kaslana ever do anything that was enough?

The doctors talk to her about palliative care proposals, sh*t it feels like...like Mei is going to die in four days, that Kiana's life is going to end on this hospital bed, like....

It may be so, as a matter of faith.

"Soon..."

She chokes on her ceaseless tears.

"Soon, I'll be asked to choose a coffin for your funeral."

Mei tries to reassure her by squeezing her hand a little tighter.

A little too tight.

"But no...We're going to stay strong, okay? Even if I...Even if you find yourself alone, you can ask Bronya and Seele to live with them for a while, you can spend time with our friends for me, okay? You can..."

"No, I..."

"Oh...And...You'll be able to fall in love with someone else."

Mei smiled at her as she said these words, smiling because she knew that her life on this world was over. She has treasured and cherished Kiana, now she's willing to let her go. She'll live in her, she'll live in all the people who'll stay to look after Kiana, in Bronya, Fu hua, Seele and the others. She will live as Himeko still does in their hearts.

"...I would gladly become a sinner"

-

Kiana experienced death in the worst possible way. She got up, she fought, she learned to live again. But even when you lose someone you love once, the second or third time is no less painful. As an immortal, she knows that to say otherwise would be hypocrisy. You never really grow used to loss.

It's not the fear of death that drives her to prostration, that shatters her discarnate soul, it's the fear of immortality.

Her eyes fall once again on the wilted flowers by the hospital's unoccupied bed. The day before, they were laughing together about the future. Mei would return to teaching the kids, and Kiana would hold her hand in her days of sorrow.

The illness would continue even after it was gone. At least, that's what she believed until cruel hope crossed her mind. Then she'd thought about all her failures. She felt she'd never been a good enough person. In Chiba's time, she had forced Mei to live because Kiana wanted her to live. Kiana wanted Mei to bear the pain of being a Herrscher and losing her last family. Kiana had lied to Mei afterwards, making her believe that everything was okay, that everything would be okay too. There was no way their relationship could end in wrath.

Learning the truth about her hospitalization had made her furious, she used to think she was beyond such thinking, she thought Mei had embraced the idea of being saved.

It wasn't true, and many things seemed false to her.

Mei was supposed to be beyond words.

After all the struggles and mistakes, how could Kiana be willing to let her go forever? She had waited, first a few years, until they were mature enough to face reality, then ten years, preserving the Earth from the Honkai infection.

She tended to believe that all those who longed for reunion... had never really been apart.

Even so, she let out a deep sigh over the flickering flames. Life goes on. Existence refuses to fade. Out of selfishness, she would like everything to stop, for finality to return to its origin in an ocean of embers. It's unfair the way she clenches her fists and drinks her own tears while the rest of the world gets its 'happy ending'.

She must survive for all those who are no longer with her.

The children from Mei's school come to hold her hand through the seasons, as they grow up. Kiana spends time with Adam, teaching him to fight, to appreciate every moment, and just to exist for himself. He bears a striking similarity to Kiana in his teenage years, much like the Kaslana blood that seems to bind them together. Adam moves forward into the future, while she stumbles over the same rubble.

She drinks tea with Seele, and listens to her talk about the orphanage as Bronya walks in, their daughter in her arms. Welt is there too, the little girl whining to call Kiana. She holds her in her lap and enjoys the feel of her tiny hands on her cheeks. Bronya starts chatting about the new game she and Welt have decided to create. It's about Kiana, a game about her journey. When Welt points it out, Bronya retorts the opposite, but deep down they both know it's a work of genuine passion.

This same game would later become the dearest favorite of the child in her arms. The girl will grow up to have pretty grey hair like one of her mothers and an angelic voice. She'll become passionate about astronomy. A cultivated and serious young lady. She'll still have fun with her Auntie Kiana, following her to the greatest heights to gaze up at the starry sky.

Her aunt will show her the most dazzling star in the sky and claim it's the most incredible woman who ever lived.

In the end, she will see Bronya, Seele and even their daughter die. She'll keep Fu Hua and the Hersscher of Sentience company in their lonely abode, though even these two old feathers will eventually wither. She will follow Bianka's path, trying to renew lost ties with her father. They'll go mountaineering, swimming, racing in the middle of the day. They'll live for the moment.

Alone, Kiana will sign her own epitaph. She'll write that she lived for Mei, Himeko and all the beautiful things in this world.

On the verge of agonizing ecstasy, she leaves the planet that was once her home.

She visits a train that's supposed to take her to the end, where she pretends she's a goddess enjoying herself by acting as if she's one. She meets her friends' alter-egos, visits the first crew of the Astral Express. In a prison that others will know as Penacony, she watches souls rise as their fathers once did. She sees the event of the Great Ones, perched on the edge of a spaceship, her head turned upside down, her blood stopped in a blast that will, in an instant, end the cycle of tragedy across these lands.

She learns to love again, in the pain of having lost everything.

Then, sometimes, in the depth of night, she collapses again.

It's one of these days that she meets a woman named Acheron, a perfect copy of the woman she's painted so many times. Yet she prefers to deny reality. Acheron can't be Raiden Mei. That's just not right.

Yet part of her still wishes it were.

The truth dawns with a touch of sorrow. She prays to the Goddess of the Tree again and again, kneels down, fists clenched on her shoulder, and yells. She screams as her heart falls to pieces. Her knuckles turn to blood and sweat. Her body becomes the burden of her existence. She has to pretend, keep pretending, that she's all right.

Kiana Kaslana knows that the lamentations of the dead are deaf to the eyes of the gods.

She adorns a genuine memory and introduces herself as Frebass. When someone asks her where she comes from, she speaks of the first planet she visited alongside Acheron. Okron, a fallen land with the smell of spring. It was a peaceful place, but at the touch of a Herrscher, it fell apart.

When she realizes that Acheron is Mei, she also realizes that praying to the gods to be fond of her once again wouldn't be a terrible thing. In the last life they'd shared, Mei had damned herself for their sake, therefore, heaven got retribution. There was no way she could let that happen twice.

The Will of Honkai fulfilled her wishes. It would take her face, it would obey the laws of this universe. In return, one day, Kiana Kaslana would owe her.

A self-annihilator and a fallen one, what an idyllic pair.

She races along the shores, calling out Acheron's name until her deluded body is blown to smithereens by her nameless longing. Intent on chasing the race of a god of this world, intent on pretending to be a dreamer. Each time, the Will of Honkai, as perfect as the goddess of the Imaginary Tree, replies that it's impossible to change destiny.

In response, the Herrscher of Finality snaps her fingers. She rebuilds a reality that lives up to her expectations. In the past, her predecessor used this power to reset the world. Kiana wants to do things differently. The Honkai doesn't deserve to exist, but she's part of it, born to be a Herrscher. So...

She will use this power even if it costs her reason.

Prior to this hope, she turns her features into those of a goddess, her body into a receptacle for nihility. In this way, Mei may never be completely consumed. Her memory will be preserved inside Kiana. For a never ending eternity.

This time, Kiana sees time pass slowly.

So slowly, in fact, that after a hundred years, she feels battered. This fragment of the universe is tiny, hanging on by a thread. She dangles above the interstellar void and prays that one day someone will remember this foolish world made of thunderbolts and elegies.

𝑀𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒

Chapter 14: Chapter XI

Chapter Text

Without hesitation, she pushes the swing forward. When her hands leave the burning rope, she can feel free of a burden she has carried for far too long. The straw hat she'd slipped over Mei's hair sways in the wind. Her shadow ricochets off the white pebble beneath her feet. She flies higher and higher. Kiana stands behind her to maintain her steady flight.

Mei lets out an ecstatic giggle, her lips shaking at the crystal-clear sound. She feels as if she could do anything or be anyone. Out of the darkness, memories assault her. The Poet sobs her unspoken name. Up there, the heavens face her. They believe, grow alive, fester with venom. It begins to rain. The rain carries their filthy poison.

Kiana reaches for the rope and the swing grinds to a brutal stop. She takes the shock of the seat being thrown at full speed into her stomach, and staggers to her feet. Despite the pain, she rushes to pull Mei into an embrace. They roll a few meters, the swing continuing to spin in their harsh shadows. They fall into the mismatched rocks. Kiana uses her hand to support Mei's head and protect her from harm. In return, their jaws collide in a bloody clash.

The namesake ecstasy of their love, heard in the whispers of Kiana's agonized days, is brought to life by the zephyr. She starts crying because there's no way it could be otherwise. She is dying again in the arms of the one she loves. Even though she knows it's a meaningless thought, she'd like this to be their last reunion.

She steps back, to stammer an apology when Mei reaches up to take her quivering hands.

"I love you."

Kiana doesn't collapse. Instead, she inhales a slow and sore huff. She can't bear it any longer. She huddles over herself and searches in vain for her breath. She repeats the same words over and over in the hope that it's real. Curled up like this, she thinks about death.

She sits like this against Mei's coffin, reading books to her. An orphan chased the dream of becoming a gentleman. He wanted to be loved by a woman he could never conquer. The poetry was accompanied by a vague impression of sadness. He loved her so much that Kiana felt sorry for him. She couldn't close the book, and even though it was so many pages long that it made her hands ache, she had to keep reading for Mei. Tonight, the stars were shining brighter, no doubt because she was listening to the story by his side.

She lost her in the songs of the wind, in her laughter carried by the breeze escaping from the scattered branches of the willows, she saw her smile in the splendor of the sky, she felt her touch in the sigh of the world.

“Love her, love her, love her! If she favors you, love her. If she wounds you, love her. If she tears your heart to pieces – and as it gets older and stronger, it will tear deeper – love her, love her, love her!”*

These words echoed well with her distress.

If only she could forget,

Turn the page and...

Take another path,

She wouldn't be standing on this grave, ten years after her owner's death.

Kiana and Mei were both teenagers. They had to learn to grow up in war and pain. No one taught them to love other than with torment. When Kiana's father came to visit the grave of his daughter's former wife, he promised her that there was an awesome place after death. It's normal, after all, otherwise what would he have left Kiana's mother behind?

She sweats like a maniac and shakes at the risk of being carried away by the breeze. Her heart misses a beat for every time she's prevented it from existing. Goose bumps rise where Mei's hand fondles the skin. It rises from the icy flesh of her arm to her cheek.

Mei's lips sing odes to new beginnings on Kiana's.

The blood beats at her temples, her knees twitch one by one, her fingertips shudder to the tune of a slow drumbeat. Her vision darkens, turns sallow. The breath stuck in her throat rises in a harsh rumble. She tries to inhale through the hiccups, breathing in and out. The pain increases with each vain attempt. Unable to keep her balance because of her restless hands, her legs give way. The discomfort lifts the weight off her body for a fleeting second. The pressure returns at once. She pierces the flesh of her palms with her nails and waits patiently to feel the agony kill her.

But, her atonement never comes.

"f*ck, f*ck, f*ck, you're not even able to breathe anymore?!" she thinks, biting her lip to blood.

If she were alone, she'd be pulling at her hair, screaming, maybe rolling on the floor to take in the pain of the thousand swords in her heart.

Someone is there, someone stroke her hair with a gentle, loving gesture. Someone breathes into her ear and whispers to her that she belongs. She whispers that everything will be all right.

It's a redemption better than any she could have imagined.

The terror is overwhelming, pulling her into the darkness that inhabits her old bones. She's afraid of the death she cherishes, she's afraid of these thoughts, she's afraid of the person she thinks she's become. She suffocates on her anguish, stumbles on the rope that keeps her upright.

Mei...

Mei, Mei, Mei, Mei...

Mei is here.

How could Kiana flinch? She brings her the strength of a thousand warriors, she reforges her broken sword even if it takes a billion times...

She's here.

Her throat dry, her lips torn, her stomach swept by an innate queasiness, she stares at Mei. More shivers tug at her. She reaches Mei's fingers and squeezes them tightly.

“Make it real” she prays to the Goddess of The Tree, to all the gods that exist or have exist in human minds.

"It's all right, Kiana-chan. I'll never let you down."

She's experienced a life of eternity, and now she's longing for a hoped-for death. In these busy times, she wants to feel loved above all else. It's hard to breathe in her embrace and it's hard not to focus on Mei's heartbeat. The heart that was taken in the war and given back to worship. Mei's hand brushes her damp eyelid. Her familiar breath sweeps away Kiana 's grief. She embraces her gently, with a tenderness she dares not give up, as if she were carrying another of those flickering flames, destined to be torn apart. Kiana's body is a fortified castle, its glass walls etched with the scars of several lifetimes of physical and moral plight.

She has her father's tendency to sacrifice himself for the common welfare and her mother's taste for a thorn-bush idyll. Her fingers curl around Mei's with a warlike glee. She keeps staring at her through misted eyesight. The sun may shine, but all she sees is the one he idolizes. Her heart prays to be heard, her feelings are rendered, and thus elation emanates. Well, her joy is twinned by sorrow. No path is without an end.

Anguish rises in her throat.

"You're hurt."

Mei's lips are tinged with the blood of Kiana's.

"So are you," she says.

"I'm sorry."

She shakes her head.

"Don't be. Thanks to you, I remember everything now."

"I know, that's why I'm sorry. I shouldn't force you to remember, it's not the same existence anymore, today should be made of uncharted tomorrow, not my selfish yearnings to regain what was yesterday" retorts Kiana.

"Do you think I wouldn't be able to forgive you for that? After all that..." Mei wipes away a tear, "Everything you did to find me."

Kiana shrugs wearily, a gesture borrowed from the despair she's tended to feel for so many years. When Mei leans over to touch her lips, a headache assails her. How awful to think that, after so much waiting, she's unable to appreciate the object of her desire.

"Please don't cry any more," she begs of her, "I don't think I can bear it."

At this, Kiana nestles against her curled knees.

" I might make you suffer again" she confesses, "I've long thought that if I'd disappeared from your life, if I'd gone far enough away for you to forget me, things would have been different. I was forcing you to love me with my stupidities and my abrupt ways of being. If it hadn't pushed you to care about me, maybe you could have lived longer, started a family and met our friends' families."

"Kiana...do you think that's what I want?"

"No! That's just it, I..." she hides in the shadows, ashamed to cry again, "Look how pitiful I am."

Mei kneels down in front of her and grabs the palms of her hands. She turns them over and places a kiss on them. Her lips tinted with lipstick leave a red mark, one for each hand to beg for the promise of yesteryear.

"In my eyes, you've never been pitiful and you never will be. You are the most special person in my life. The star that lights my way. I don't think the gods damned me for loving you, perhaps they were jealous of seeing us so happy, because we're human. You and I are imperfect beings. We cry and break down in pain, but that's what makes us so endearing, don't you think?"

The ambient air stagnates, the clarity dulled. A storm is brewing. A sense of oppressive anxiety reigns. When warriors wait, flags in hand, their carnal strands coiled on the taut blade of their spears and swords. Life is a war that Mei has already won twice.

She presses her forehead against Kiana's. The scent of garden flowers is in her hair. From this distance, she notices the traces of mud on the girl's cheeks, the dirt buried under her fingernails and the calluses that appear after she's ploughed the ground. Her breath has the aroma of peaches, a sweetness that Mei treasures. Even though Kiana's wind is cold, it soothes Mei. They remain steadfast until the first raindrops fall. Thunder rumbles, lightning flashes across the sky.

"The storm makes me think of you, Mei-senpai", Kiana confides.

The other woman simply cradles her against her body. Kiana slides her forehead onto her shoulder and sighs. Mei helps her to get up and leads her into the house. She sits her down, then goes to the bathroom. She returns with a damp rag and some medicine to sanitize the wound on Kiana's lip. Compliant, the owner of the house lets her do it unperturbed. When Mei has finished treating her, Kiana suggests she treat her own wound.

"I wish we could have played on the swing for longer," she says when Mei sits down in her seat, "I worked so hard to get it built !"

"I don't doubt it, Kiana" she strokes Kiana's hair and then kiss her forehead, "But you know, we've got all the time in the world now"

The former Herrscher swallows, "You think so?"

After she has disinfected her injury, Mei leaves the rag on the side of the worktop and walks back to Kiana. She kneels down to untie the laces of her shoes and places them beside the front door. Without making a sound, she places the coat on the garment hanger at the back. Before Kiana can say anything to further contradict her, she runs a glove over her face and watches her nose wrinkle. Kiana shakes her head before sneezing. Mei is immediately filled with endearment.

"I've missed you," she says, "I've never been able to forget my love for you."

"We haven't been apart long, just a few days..." retorts Kiana, her hands raised to rub her eyes.

"Wait, wash your hands first, you might catch an infection in your eyes"

"Okay..."

She got up with a tired gesture and left for the bathroom. After barely a minute, the water runs in the water tap. Silenced sobs can be heard among the dripping sound. With her face clutched in her hands, Kiana refuses to look at her reflection in the mirror. The room is quickly plunged into the darkness of the storm outside. The rain conceals her lament. It's all for the best, she muses, as she vainly rubs the blood from her dirty fingernails. Her shoulders shake to the rhythm of her distress, and by the time she leaves the room, somewhat reluctant to face Mei again, her eyes are rimmed with red.

The two stare at each other in silence.

"Let's sit down."

"Yes, you're right, it's for the best" murmurs Kiana.

It was easier when she could pretend she was fine. Once the mask fell off, it was impossible to put it on again. Anyway, it would be insincere of her. Mei deserves the truth, even if hers is full of sin.

"Kiana-chan..." begins Mei, searching for the right words to say, "Are you okay? You look..."

"Terrible, isn't it?" she laughs, "I didn't want you see this."

"For how long have you been... " Her voice breaks, she somehow feels flawed about a thing she can't define, " You've been feeling... This way...?"

Kiana's skin glistens with sweat, she leans on the palms of her hands to stand up and nearly stumbles. In these past few days, Mei has been so consumed by Kiana's presence that she forgot to take note of her welfare.

Kiana is an angel stranded in the sea of oblivion.

Her cheeks are sickly pale with grime. She lifts a hand to sweep the damp strands from her forehead. Mei immediately notices the sores on her palms. No wonder she wears gloves so often...

"I'm sorry, I wanted to be perfect for our reunion but in the end...I just wasn't able to bear the pressure of waiting" she says, forcing a smile, "But, I'll be fine now, I...I promise, Mei-senpai. Today's just a bad day."

She wants to laugh, but all of a sudden the world flips upside down. Mei rushes to catch her the way she once did for her. Kiana puts a hand on her chest, where the faint flutter of her heart lies.

Here, in this old house renovated with the aim of being an Empire, she is only a peasant girl in the fields of her desolation. She reaches out to brush Mei's tear-stained cheek and lets it fall limp into her lap.

"Most of the time, everything's feel okay... But...There are times I can't help but think it's all going to turn out so terribly wrong. I may die. Yet, I'm immortal, you may die, and then I'll be back looking for you again and again. My thoughts are like this never-ending cycle... I just... I miss the time when I could pretend to be a dummy. It's unfair, I'd like to stop this pain in my chest, this terror that makes me sick every night. How could I pretend to be a goddess if I forgot? I have powers, I have the ability to make important choices for everyone, so...so..."

Mei's hands shake on Kiana's spine.

A pain in the chest, wasn't it...?

As if someone had stabbed her right in the heart.

Mei looks down at her hands, the same knuckles she used to hold her sword in pride.

"Oh no, no, no, that's not what I meant," Kiana snaps back, her voice hoarse with grief, "It's not your fault, Mei-senpai, it never will be."

She has no idea on how to express her fragility or affection, she doesn't know how to continue to exist after so many failures. She promised it to Himeko, she lived for her, for long years of delight. This ain't her first lifetime, she should be able to fathom such feelings. Deep down, she is only human.

"You've never been a goddess," Mei tells her, "You're Kiana...That's all, my Kiana...That's enough for me. Always."

Kiana brushes her hand against Mei's without meaning to. The touch burns her fingers. She recoils from the touch, pale and flushed both at once.

Kiana was born of a desire to relish.

Born from a single torment so isolated it could overflow, and burst forth in odes to death.

It's almost surreal, the way Mei's lips touch hers in prose. At first, it's a stolen kiss, her lips passing over Kiana's cheek and forehead before they linger.

Her heart can't take it.

She feels a thrill of ecstasy, an urge to bring Mei's body even closer to her own. Her soul reclaims the flesh that was once her haven. She notices the scar under Mei's chin and tilts her fingers to fondle it. She dwells upon it amid the sound of her sore chuckle. She waits, ready for one more kiss. It's the only thing she still has left inside.

For once, there's no pain in the embrace. She searches for her smile in the heat of the instant, she wants to keep it buried within her. Even if Mei's smile is something shattered and uneasy, she loves it more than anything. She knows she's the reason. For the first time in a long time, she's the reason for something special.

So she seeks her desire on, comes closer, their noses collide and provoke a jolt of pain. Kiana sighs a soft giggle as Mei slips her hand behind hers to further their kiss. Mei's name is etched into her flesh, she soaks up her scent, drowns in her envelop. She looks at Mei's earnest and stern countenance, her eyes wide as with lust.

"Mei..."

"Yes?"

"Can you kiss me like that for all eternity?"

Mei laughed.

"I don't think that's possible."

Kiana remembered their first kiss, the strange taste of her lips, chilled yet tingling her heart with the yearning for more. Of her fingers tracing the constellations from the tip of her nose to her eyelids for a brief caress. Everything was perfect, except for the shortness of the moment.

She had marked her soul in a way unlike any other. It wasn't sorrow, nor even the melancholy Kiana knew all about. In exchange, Acheron had offered her a vibrant color. A recognizable scarlet among the darkness.

"Don't you love me enough for that?"

Mei shook her head, her eyes glazed bright.

"What they've done to you, what you've done, what defines you, your fears, your hopes, your anxieties, your passions, I love every one of those things. Yes, there is some wrong. You're not a perfect person, far from it. But to me, you're the only person I could love for a thousand years,"

There are many inexplicable things, hurried words, slips of the tongue, a faint sense of déjà vu or intuition - a dream of one's own thoughts. Kiana didn't think about the absurd. She'd fallen in love at some point, but which one? The beginning of her story would have to be retraced - perhaps even back to her childhood. She remembered Chiba Academy, her frequent wanderings, passing through the streets and waiting to receive attention for her 'pretty' face. Those days were as much fun as they were hair-raising for a teenager. By some miracle, though, that couldn't be her cleverness, she received an ounce of something irrefutable.

It seemed her love was fated. A butterfly's flutter would be enough to send everything over the edge, to sweep her hand across her cheek, her lips strayed to the verge of Mei's, the light cold breath on exposed flesh, the kiss that followed, both sweet and eager. They clashed, tore each other to shreds, if this wasn't love, what was it?

Kiana stood up and pulled Mei with her.

"Well...I can't stand here feeling sorry for myself" she puts her hands on Mei's cheeks and pulls them as if Mei were a scolded child, "Stop making all these statements, I...Where's my embarrassed and shy Mei gone? It's not fair..."

"Before, you...At least, I can remember a few things, you wanted me to take some initiative, didn't you? I can't just live under your thumb all the time, can I?"

"Yes, yes, I may have said that..." Kiana shakes her hand, "Well, I said a lot of crap too, do you have to take everything seriously?"

Mei shrugs sheepishly.

"Yes?"

"Mei..." she trails off, clutching her sleeve, "Come on, we've got to do something useful...I'm starving."

"Oh...Do you want me to cook you something?"

Kiana's eyes light up. She starts shaking Mei's arm with a frantic gesture.

"Can you? Can you?"

"I'm not sure," Mei retorts before noticing the change of expression on Kiana's face, "Anyway, I can try. I'll do my best."

''Yeah! I knew I could convince you, hehe"

"You...you really haven't changed."

Mei sighs with relief. She lets Kiana sit in the living room and gives her a book to keep her occupied - though she doubts she'll be able to sit still and focus. She left the room and headed for the kitchen. Once alone, she searches the cupboards and fridge for something to cook a meal, yet most of the food is either out of date or useless. She turns to canned goods. At the sight of the metal cans, she remembers a gray-haired girl, sitting cross-legged on a bed, a video game controller in hand as she eats the remains of an opened can.

She holds her head, seized by a headache, and drops the can in her hand. Kiana storms in to find her kneeling in front of the cupboards.

"Mei?!"

"I'm fine, I've had..." Kiana's hands shake so much she's forced to pull herself together to help her up, "Calm down, everything's fine. I remembered the time when I had to reprimand you and Bronya about your eating habits."

"Ah...that was back in St.Freya's time, wasn't it?" said Kiana, her voice a little shaky, "I remember too. She and I used to fight a lot, but when we heard your footsteps, we'd throw our empty boxes under the bed and promise not to say anything"

"Really? Finally, it looks like I got you to spill the beans"

Realizing her mistake, Kiana leaves as quickly as she arrived. Mei places the tin on the worktop and opens it with a can opener left on the side. She glances over to the other side of the door and notices that Kiana is reading. Or so it seems, since Mei also notices that the book cover is upside down.

"Do you not like the book?" she asks.

"No, no, it's a great story."

"Are you sure? I had the impression it bored you" insists Mei.

"Not at all, I'm fine with whatever you suggest".

Knife in hand, she starts slicing the vegetables to mix them with the canned condiments.

Kiana's garden may be in poor condition, but the fresh vegetables are undeniably of good quality. Did she go to the village to buy them? Why should she? Kiana never knew how to cook.

"In that case, can you explain to me why you're holding the book the wrong way round?"

A nervous laugh echoes from the other room.

"Ah...looks like you got me , Mei-senpai."

Without answering anything, Mei continues to prepare the meal. The food slides across the worktop, dancing under her fingers, followed by the sharp blade that might hurt her. The movement is so natural that she begins to whistle in a low voice. Her eyes widen at the realization.

As guardian of the forsaken, she'd never dreamed of an idle life. There's nothing wrong with that. She pauses to look at the chopping board and the progressively full salad bowl, then at her fingers which serve as tools. That's what cooking is really all about.

Her fingers have been used for many other things; saving the drowned from the temptations of Nihility, warming herself from the bite of eternal cold, brandishing the forever-closed scabbard, or in the worst situations, dragging the bodies of scattered souls across faded lands.

But...

In her youth, she would sit down, brush in hand, and tint her lips red. That picture has no relevance now, nor the one she sees these days.

She opens the window, hoping to find serenity in the murmuring rain. What she hears is different, a rising voice cradled by rumbling thunder. On her first awakening, thunder rumbled like this, on the horizon of the sea, a rain of blood drenching the beach once bathed in light. Her memory is a bloody shroud, and even uttering Kiana's name in it is sinful in itself.

To be cherished in someone's heart, insignificant moments that, in retrospect, are worth a thousand words. She wants to engrave them in the image of the young woman dancing in the rain, twirling, her face wet with trickling droplets, her eyes closed, her movements fluid and uncertain at the same time, in a deadly waltz.

Life isn't a choice, it never was for Kiana, or anyone else. However, existence is made up of ounces of possibilities, shattered in hopes, in suffering, in the futile moments of a day, of laughter, of tears, of sunrise.

Once, IX had shown the way to the woman called Mei, turning her into his shadow; a river of dismay where only the lamentations of the dead echoed among the darkness. Out of this was born another part of herself, an 'emptiness'. A contrast with existence. An absurd abstraction.

There was no purpose without such an insight on life, to live in the certain knowledge that one day her shadow would take over and consume her.

A black hole orbits without purpose, without existence. As an anomaly, it continues to exist in space without a destination.

In contrast, a quasar is an object made of light whose heart is a void of gloom. Capable of absorbing several tens of billions of solar masses in a single flash, it is undoubtedly a galactic core of extreme danger. Despite this, their sheer darkness is insufficient to overwhelm the power of their radiance.

Mei touches the translucent curtains and lifts them in a hurried movement. She stops breathing.

Kiana's skirts rustle in the breeze. Her azure dress edged in gold recalls the brightness of a summer's day, mingled with the straw hat she wears in this stormy weather. The cape tied around her shoulders twirls and the basket of bread apples is splashed with dew. The clouds have a mild vein from which rise two shafts of sunshine.

Two are enough to depict Elyseum.

Daisies glide between her rain-whipped fingers. Her body whirls, her eyes open into two incandescent stars. She gazes at the woman inside the cottage, who in turn admires her, and holds out her hand. Moisture has crept into her clothes, imprinted her skin with rainbows, and the gust of wind carries her out of Mei's reach. She spins on her tiptoes, opens her arms wide and grabs the long grass in her palms.

The knife slips from Mei's hand. She inhales heavily, stunned by the scene.

It's not raining on Kiana, the sky is singing to her, crying out in its own way, the heart at the edge of its lips.

Because...

Tears flow down Mei's cheeks.

No one taught her to express her emotions any other way.

"Mei-senpai..."

Kiana reaches out her hand from outside and sweeps away the glistening tears. Her lips part in ingenuous glee whence her hushed voice escapes, while her eyes crinkle into a crescent moon, a brief blush tinting her cheekbones. Her straw hat flies off. Her ponytail sways in the stormy waves.

"Don't cry, Mei. Life is beautiful."

Mei swallows and gives a timid nod.

"It's just..." she wipes her eyes, "You're so beautiful."

Kiana lets her fingers float over Mei's shaky hand.

"So do you. I'm so...lucky to have met you."

"But you came for me."

Their lips brush, one from outside, her skin icy, the other in the temperate warmth of the living room.

"Yeah. Yet, I can't go against fate" says Kiana, "It's not a choice to find a pretty damsel injured in the middle of the woods, right?"

"And it's not a choice when someone asks us to go and see the swing of a girl who lives alone in this village" adds Mei. She then tugs at Kiana's collar and whispers, "But it would be one to scold you when you've fallen ill."

"Oh come on, Mei! Since when does the rain stop us? You should come too, the meal can wait" coos Kiana.

"I thought you were starving?"

"Oh, er...suddenly everything's fine. Besides, Mei-senpai is more important than any food, you know."

"I'm not going to leave the food in a mess" retorted the concerned one, "Stop acting like a child and come here"

"Please, please, please..."

"Okay...Okay, okay"

Having sunk to Kiana's whims against her will, Mei sets about tidying up the leftover food, all the while saving a ripe apple to feed the fickle girl. With a sigh, she slips outside. Too bad she'd left her umbrella at the altar, it would have come in handy now.

As soon she takes a step outside, Kiana rushes into her arms. The sheer attention made her leap. She raises her hand and refrains from pushing her away abruptly. She inhales a long gulp of air and pats Kiana's back. Kiana embraces her, her hands threading down her back and then to her sides where she seeks the shadow of Mei's fingers. She's soaked from head to toe, her icy touch sends goose bumps up Mei's arms. The question is whether this is proof of her anguish or ecstasy.

"I knew you'd come, Mei. You always end up accepting."

Kiana's fingers slide against Mei's. She pulls her from the doorway to the soft grass. They walk around the flower garden and stop in front of the swing. The finish is perfect, the architect has tied the ropes with an innate perfection; the knots are unquestionably solid, one might almost think it was a continuation of the cedar on which it was hung. With the youthful beauty of the buds, Kiana's garden now looks like a rustic valley straight out of a fairy tale. To complete this idyllic view, all that's missing is a princess.

"By the way, how did you manage to collect the money? I thought you barely had enough to eat."

Kiana stifles a nervous laugh.

"Well...yes, I did. But, Bronya and Seele gave me this surprise"

"Oh...did they come here recently?"

"Yes, just before you came back actually. Well just Bronya, Seele's been a bit busy lately...But you know, they're...Er, a bit different from the one you know" declares Kiana then she sits down on the right seat of the swing and pulls Mei's wrist, "You've missed each other by a mile again"

"Yes…"

Rain trickles down the knotted ropes. All it takes is a sigh from the wind for two birds to appear in the shaded sky. They're destined to fall, but at least they'll flutter for as long as they can.

The braided flowers are a silk on wet strands of flesh, the sensation mingles with the laughter of nothing, the eternity of the nihility of this momentary time. The sky manifests a desire to shatter; it splits into sparkles, snaps and transcends the grayish clouds. The crackling resounds in melody to the gentle rhythm of the sway.

The dream awakens, born from ashes.

The wind blows through Kiana's hair, her loose clothes sway with the breeze. Mei is enthralled. She feels an irrepressible desire to snatch her, and restrains herself in a slow, delightful agony.

The landscape changes around her, rain drips down her cheeks in unspoken tears, clouds stretch, light struggles to exist. She lives on contemplation, ecstatic at the sight of a living picture. But at the same time, the sight tears at her soul. She'll end up in tatters, burned by the flames of a woman. Yes, Kiana is a woman like any other, made of flesh, blood, flowers and splendor. For Mei, she's heaven and hell. She's simple, she's special, she's pure and wild, she's clever and foolish.

"Mei-senpai, stop staring at me like that, you'll make me blush!"

Her eyelids flutter and before she realizes it, their lips are already too close to prevent a collision. Mei moves backwards, falling as a consequence. This is the second time today, is this swing meant to kill her?

"Mei! What were you thinking?! You could be seriously hurt!"

"Kiana...Is this…"

"What are you saying?" said Kiana, already on her knees to cup her face, "Damn, you're going to get a scar."

"We are...What are we...?"

"Huh? Oh uh... Former partners? Married? Uh...Girlfriends? Acquaintances...Whatever you want, really."

"I thought I was your best friend."

Kiana stands up, stretches her arms and retorts to the wind.

"But, you are!"

Looking dazed, Mei stands on the ground, knees drawn up, her hands in the wet dirt. Her nails grip the stems. She can tear them apart with disconcerting ease. She possesses a power that overcomes her, a strength that tries to dominate her.

When she pretended to be an ideal daughter, she repeated her outfit, the position of her hands on the family teapot, with a smile on her lips, but nothing more, especially not with lively joy. She poured this pure, bitter liquid into the ceramic bowls on the table, and her father admired her every move. No one spoke, not even her father's friends, diplomats and noblemen who had come to drink and enjoy the moment. They passed the bowl from hand to hand, breathing in the fragrance of the tea and the warmth of the silence. Just meeting each other was a treasure.

It was easy to pretend. It was all about respect, honor and purity. What was pure about pretending? In being the same, in being popular.

"These things are a bit rushed, aren't they? A few days and then...Can we really kiss or all that...Just...Like this?"

"Of course" Kiana holds out her hands, "Come on, get up, princess. We have so many things to do together."

"Things? What things?"

Kiana doesn't answer right away. Instead, she moves closer and nestles against Mei's quiescent body. She interlaces their fingers and cradles their arms. They dance on just a few steps in this confined space.

“There's so much risk of getting hurt or sick”, Mei thinks, “Our shoes are wet, our clothes are damp, the water's dripping on Kiana's face, on her lips, which she might swallow and…”

"To start with, to eat. Then we have to take a bath, look at you, how could we go to the village like this?"

The rhythm of their dance is slow but enough to make her dizzy. Kiana wraps her fingers around Mei's wrist and twirls her around. She trembles under her gesture but dares never resist. There's an inherent control in the way Kiana accentuates a simple brushstroke into a jolt. She quickens her pace to keep up with the tempo of the waltz, slips her right arm behind Mei's back and holds her waist. Their busts brush against each other but they do not bump into each other. Their fingertips barely touch. It's clear that only one of them is leading this dance.

The grip loosens and, with a thunderous burst, the storm takes over again. A violent gust sweeps through their hair. The sky becomes a dim nothingness.

Kiana jumps onto the step between them and the house entrance and opens the handle. The girl behind follows, her heart racing at the thought of being near her.

Acheron isn't used to being close to people, to touching them or touching them like this. Even the little girl fondly called Mei by an influential nobleman didn't know such a feeling of proximity.

The writer said to love, towards reason, towards time, towards humiliation, towards the whole world. If she wished, Acheron could reduce this planet to nothing and become the godmaker of an entire universe. Far from making her suffer, this love would strengthen her possibilities of being and becoming.

"Are you nervous, Mei?"

"Nervous...About what?"

All smiles, Kiana carries her inside. She closes the door and steals a kiss against it. Moved by childish joy, she hops to the kitchen, whistling that it's "about that". The smell of food wafts through the room. Mei groped forward, mumbling her answer hesitantly.

"Kiana-chan…"

"Nervous about our kisses" adds Kiana, taking the apple from Mei's jacket pocket, "About loving, about being attached to someone."

She takes a bite, the juice dripping onto her lower lip, and at Mei's stunned expression, she licks it off.

"To feel unknown things..."

Mei hesitates to answer anything. She wants to protest, to prove her bravery somehow. It's what she's always done. Kiana's face twinkles, pride on her lips. Mei knows her hidden agony, the castaway shore that serves as her heart. Yet she can't deny that she first fell in love with her beauty; not the beauty of songs, of a sensual body or a charming tone, she adored the way she was against all odds Kiana Kaslana.

She didn't need to be more than that in Mei's eyes.

She knew how to make people laugh, spoke to them with an ease that disconcerted a taciturn person like herself. They hadn't been born with the same way of existing; Mei had grown up in sanctity and poetry; Kiana knew how to go with the wind, live for the moment. Her smile even brightened her destructive nature.

"You're right," said Mei, entering the kitchen, "It's hard to accept that I could feel this way about anyone, and at the same time, it's as if it's all been written. I imagine it is, by the Aeons, probably to make fun of us. But you're a Herrscher, what could they be more afraid of?"

Kiana's grin faded. The mention of a predestined future sends her into turmoil. She'd like to tell Mei how right she is - perhaps she knows that Kiana is the reason for the prophecies. Anyone who has heard of The Aeon of Finality knows that it travels in time and knows the universe better than anyone else.

"You're an Emanator, Acheron. We're not supposed to exist in this world."

"Heresies" concludes Mei, her eyes fixed on the kitchen knife, outside the clouds blur the sky, tonight it will burst into stars, there's still time, not much time but enough to hope, "That worries me."

Kiana slips into the kitchen, wrapping her arms around Mei's waist and burying her face in the back of Mei's clothes. The two remain still in this contemplative state. Mei begins to breathe. She moves her hand and continues her work. After a moment, however infinitesimal or endless, Kiana speaks again. Her voice is groggy, subdued by exhaustion. Mei guesses that this is not physical strain, but rather the reflection of a bygone soul. As if...Kiana knew that misery had to come no matter what she did.

"Mei-senpai, your hair has turned white."

The meal over, Mei doesn't dare interrupt the steady sound of the oven. Kiana is right; her reflection is that of a woman, shaded by Nihility. She feels Kiana's fingers running through the white locks, desperately seeking a way out of this masquerade.

"You know..."

Her whisper falls low and uneven.

"In a world where we'd never have to live with the Honkai, I wanted to build a house by the sea with you. We'd have been able to contemplate the ebb and flow of the waves for hours on end, enjoy every droplet thrown up from the burning foam, gather shells in the salty breeze of a summer's day. And even without anything, if we didn't have the money to build a house or find a roof over our heads, it would have been enough for us to sleep on the beach, in each other's embrace".

In the glare she sees, Mei catches a shadow across Kiana's incandescent eyes. Her grip gradually weakens. They both hold their breath. Kiana steps back and Mei turns around. The food will soon be ready, the rain has stopped, the tears have dried.

There's nothing left.

"I'll bring the sea here," Mei says, eyes closed, "I'll plant seeds to bring sand and waves. I'll stop the breeze if I have to. Please, in the meantime...stay with me."

She's that little girl in front of her window again, thrilling to the ecstatic storm. Even though her body is frozen, even though all her senses have been torn from her, she can feel a sliver of warmth from Kiana's body. Her eyelids burn, as does her flesh, and she fears this is a sign of her approaching desolation. She's been preparing for this war for years, sharpening her blade for the day when it should once again reveal its sheen within the sheltering scabbard.

She knows that at the fateful moment, a paper bird will be there to fly by her side.

"I promise...How could I leave you? How could anyone want to leave you, Mei?"

"I don't know. I just think...if danger was approaching, I'd rather you do."

"Once you ran away and hurt me, I felt like my heart could never heal from that betrayal. As time went by, I learned that I'd been wrong, that we'd been stupid and selfish because we wanted to protect each other," declares Kiana and when she looks at Mei like this, her paper flesh tinted bloody red, tattoos and flames, she sees herself again, lying on the cold floor of Nagazora's roof, "In this life, you sacrificed yourself for a ship destined to sink, and I struggled in vain a thousand years to meet you. And in the end...We're going to die, you first, I imagine I'll have to bury you again, if IX will at least spare your ashes. I'm prepared for the worst. Until the very end, however, I'll never let go of your hand. You can fight me, scream at me, hurt me, but I won't let you. That's my promise, and I hope you won't regret it."

She ends her speech in a solemn tone, her gaze riveted on his. Her touch fires Mei, burning away the slightest hesitation. The words stuck in her throat release themselves with the iron chain that shackles their hearts to each other.

"Well...Eh...Mei-senpai, can you go back to normal now? This form gives me the chills!"

"Ah...? I'm not sure I can control it, forgive me."

Kiana shakes her head, her cheeks red.

"'Tis okay, I'll get used to it"

"Are you sure it gives you goosebumps and nothing else, Kiana?"

"Hey, what are you insinuating? I'm a person of great holiness, educated and born with respect and...Oh...Maybe you're right..."

Mei quirks a satisfied glance.

"Shouldn't we go and bathe?"

A long swallow cuts through the silence in the room, and as Kiana nods, her cheeks continue to grow more flushed.

“Ah”, muses Mei, “I seem to have touched a nerve.”

Kiana's mind is as tangled as her own. In one step, she's already beginning to imagine all sorts of possible scenarios about what Mei means by "going to the bathroom". Obviously, they were married once - or at least, Kiana was married to a version of Mei, which is, perhaps somewhat different from the one now standing before her eyes. Still, they're Kiana and Mei, aren't they? Why does she feel so nervous? What's more, she'd already caught a glimpse of Mei's naked figure when she'd come to see her by the lake. There's absolutely no ambiguity here.

"I'm hungry" she articulates out of nowhere, "Very hungry...Ahahaha"

"Really? You'd better start eating then, I'll be back soon" Mei replies in a gentle, compassionate tone that immediately makes Kiana regret her words.

"Yes! Go ahead Mei-senpai, I'll...I'll save you a slice."

Far from seeming flustered by Kiana's incoherent manner, Mei serves her a plate of the dish she's prepared and sets it on the table. With an ounce of temerity, she lays a kiss on the other woman's temple before disappearing into the hallway. Sitting with her knees pulled up against her chest, Kiana hesitates to tell her that there's no hot water. She stares at the food in front of her, her stomach rumbles as she reaches for the pair of forks and knives.

The food is delicious.

Like this Nagazora curry...

With a hint of spice she struggles to catch.

The wind sweeps the leaves from the ground behind the window, thunder cries from the sea, Kiana listens to the agony whispered to her by the storm. She can barely remember the feeling of having once breathed Nagazora's air, of having wept under its hurricanes, of having smiled and laughed with a joy that seemed eternal. The transience of that moment hits her like a lash. These moments are lost to nought, shattered so that they can never be rebuilt. In life, no one is able to take the time to savor the second that, after a sigh, will be torn apart.

The child walks in the footsteps of the adult, her head raised to the stars, while the Moon smiles at her. A picture that deserves a photograph, yet despite being devoid of one, Kiana has immortalized the image in her memory. A graveyard of thoughts and memories. Sheets of paper fly about, ripped, stained with a taint of peevish yellow and filthy blood.

"So, what do you think?"

She can't see the expression on the woman leaning over her, though she can tell from the emphasis in her voice that she's smiling. The words vibrate on her lips. Kiana sets the utensils down beside the empty plate.

"Delicious! Is this really your first time? I can't believe it! With me, the kitchen always bursts into flames...I wonder why?"

Mei ruffles her hair making her sigh.

"Some things never change"

She inhales the scent that has emanated from the room since Mei's arrival and turns onto her knees, her elbow resting on the edge of the sofa. In return, Mei wipes the remnants of food from her cheeks.

"Hey, what spell did you use to look so beautiful? Is there an enchanted valley on the other side of my bathroom?" jokes Kiana.

"Yes," replies Mei, "you should go and see."

With a laugh, she stands up and starts to unbutton the fabric buttons of her dress. She relishes Mei's deep breath as the scent of the other woman's perfume reveals guilty fantasies within her.

Dressed in a pair of Kiana's clothes, despite being able to use her soaking wet ones, Mei sits down in silence. Before leaving, Kiana looks at the droplets of water on Mei's face. Her eyelashes shine with a graceful sheen, her hair falls to her chest in an awe-struck fall, one of her legs is bent over the other, she stands straight and firm. Her posture has the elegance of her social class, and if it hadn't been years since Mei's childhood, Kiana would guess without effort that she's learned these gestures to heart.

Cheered up, she leaves in her turn and returns after fifteen minutes or so, wearing an outfit matching that of her partner, an azure blue that highlights her sparkling eyes.

Before she can utter a word, three sharp knocks sound against the front door. Kiana stands up, one eyebrow raised.

Chapter 15: Chapter XII.

Chapter Text

"Were you expecting someone?"

"No, visitors rarely come here. It's an isolated house, the only ones I get to help are wandering stray like...well, like you, Mei, I imagine."

"I see. Do you want me to go and have a look? Your hair's still wet, you might catch a cold in this wind"

"No, it's fine. This is my place, I can handle it" retorts Kiana. She goes to the door and looks through the peephole. She's not an anxious person by nature but the last few years have taught her to be wary of strangers, " That's a little girl"

Mei stands up in turn.

"A little girl? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. She has pink hair and pretty blue and pink eyes...reminds me of someone."

The reflection of a pristine. How could she pass up such sparkle? She opens the door and faces the two-tone girl. Her face is lacking in color, her cheeks tinged with a sickly red, a sign of the cold outside. Despite this, she is draped in a white fur-trimmed cape, a fleece-lined coat, a hat and a pair of thick boots. With all the snow covering her, Kiana wonders if she's crossed the border to come knocking at her door.

The past few days have been fresh, but not nearly enough to welcome snow. She's rather pleased with the warmth, which allows her annuals to grow despite her poor care. These thoughts almost make her forget the poor child, struggling to stand. The little girl blinks, her teeth chattering under the cold of her own body. Kiana doesn't even bother to ask her name before dragging her inside. The door slams, startling her. She curls up against her frail legs and backs away from the door.

"Don't be afraid, I want to help you," Kiana tells her, "It's too cold to stay out in the rain, that's why I brought you in, understand?"

The little girl nods, her irises dulled by exhaustion focused on the sight of Mei, standing next to the sofa. She holds the plate of food she has left and strides over to the unknown child. Once at a suitable proximity to address her while still being far enough away to avoid touching her, she sets the food down within reach and addresses her.

"My name is Raiden Mei, and the owner of this house here is Kiana Kaslana, she's a bit straightforward and blunt but excuse her, she just wants to help you. Can you tell us your first name?"

"Ei..."

"Hey! I'm not all blunt and straightforward, okay? I was worried!" retorts Kiana, arms crossed.

Frightened by the sudden exclamation, the little one runs to curl up in Mei's arms.

"Oh uh...I'm sorry."

" Straightforward and blunt...just like I said. Anyway, Eileen, right?"

The little girl named Eileen nods, pupils dilated with shock.

"How..."

"A little bird or a brief glimmer. Is that why your mother chose that name?"

"I...I don't know, miss"

"Mei will do, miss is a little too formal, Eileen"

"Aunt..."

"Mei"

"Auntie Mei?"

Mei, resolved to accept Eileen's persistence, helps her get up and moves the food to the coffee table. She's rather displeased by the fact that she's making Eileen eat on the sofa; in the Raiden family, this kind of behavior would be considered a serious offense.

Instead of being bothered by this detail, she takes her into the bathroom and asks permission to carry her in order to wash her hands under the hot water. Yes, she'd already forgotten there wasn't any. Eileen doesn't say anything, no doubt that she's used to this kind of weather.

After checking, she doesn't seem to have a fever. Mei allows her to eat and returns to Kiana. The other woman is waiting for her by the kitchen door, continuing to eat the leftovers she found in the fridge.

"Sso, what di’ she sway?"

Accustomed to Kiana's behaviour, Mei ignores the fact that she speaks with her mouth full.

"Not much, I think she's still scared."

"She can rest here, I just can't be around all day."

"I hope you're going out to work hard," Mei joked, giving her a flick, "I'll manage. We should look for his parents in the village tomorrow"

"Maybe even to the Capital, all this snow...I think it's from the kingdom to the north, the queen there is known for her cruelty. Her name...is Cocolia. Do you remember her too?"

"Yes, of course I do. It was...does Bronya know? I mean, is she related to Cocolia in this world? I've visited different planets with people similar to the one in the past, one of them was called Jarilo-VI and another Cocolia was ruler there." explains Mei, her eyebrows furrowed as she searches through the memories in her mind.

Kiana can see it's giving her a headache in the way her face twists and her eyelids crinkle. She takes her hand and whispers in her ear.

"Don't think about it too much. "

"I'm trying to remember our past, that's all," she said, feeling guilty for worrying Kiana again, "I don't want you to worry about me that much, I can stand to suffer if it means I can be like I used to be."

"Mei-senpai...You don't need to be like before. I don't care if you're Acheron, or Mei, or someone else, you're the one I love, despite your mistakes, your failures, your flaws, none of that matters to me." she brings Mei's wrist to her lips and places a chaste kiss on it, "We'll stay together, until the end."

After their brief exchange, they return to the living room and go separate ways. Kiana goes to her room, while Mei settles in next to Eileen. The little girl has finished eating and stands motionless, her hands on her knees. She waits with visible tremors. Mei skirts around the furniture to retrieve the dishes and leaves them in the kitchen. She hurries back and sits down next to Eileen.

"Tell me, Eileen, are you still hungry?"

She shakes her head.

"Would you like to take a bath? I'd imagine your clothes would give you a chill, wouldn't you? Kiana could help you while I go to the village to find you a new outfit."

"No...Auntie Mei shouldn't worry so much, that's what Miss Kiana said, isn't it?"

She falls silent, placing her hands to her lips, then looks up and lingers for a second at Mei's reaction.

"I'm sorry...I shouldn't have listened."

"No, no, no, please don't be. You heard me, it's okay. This house is small after all." she smiled at her, "We'll look for your parents tomorrow, okay? Do you remember why you were all alone?"

"I...Mom and Dad are gone..."

"Gone?"

"Up there" she points to the ceiling, "The girl who lives in the house at the top of the village said Mommy and Daddy had become stars"

"Oh..."

Unable to help herself, Mei pulls her into an embrace. She recognizes herself in this lonely child, she sees the sadness that is singular to childhood, a sadness incomprehensible to a small being. No one deserves to be abandoned in this world like this, in doubt and fear of tomorrow. Especially not a child. They have everything to know and learn, everything to experience. The seeds have only just been sown, how can they exist outside their stems? She wraps her arms around her shivering shade and makes sure to preserve its glow about to fade.

"I'm sorry. Has anyone looked after you since they left?"

Eileen shakes her head, burying it against Mei's chest. She listens to her heartbeat as tears roll down her cheeks. Kiana enters the room dressed in a white jacket and looks at them both. She falls silent and places a rectangular music box on the living-room table. It rattles open, revealing a mechanical bird and a sea of stars in a celestial vault. A melody begins to play. Its high notes tell a fleeting story. The wooden bird dances to its rhythm, on invisible notes and heavy air. When the music ends, the box closes and the stars it projects melt into darkness.

The little girl, mesmerized, starts clapping loudly.

"Thank you, thank you" Kiana curtsies, "No more sadness, today is a happy day. Now let's get on with the magic tricks, shall we?"

She shakes the sleeves of her jacket in a vigorous gesture, then bends over and pretends to look inside. She staggers backwards as a bird appears from inside. Before this, Eileen portrays a childlike candor, her lips quivering, twisted by a crystal-clear laugh. Mei holds her in her lap, herself immediately interested in Kiana's show. Her eyes light up with tenderness.

"Look at that little cheek! Always wasting my show. Come here so I can catch you" she jumps up and pretends to trap the little bird in her hands, but under the tickle of wings struggling for freedom, she lets it go. She lets out an exclamation, jumping up to grab it. The bird escapes to the other side of the room, leaving her there, covered in shame. "Ah, what a pity... Luckily, I still have my hat!"

From behind her back, Kiana lifts a black top hat and places it on her head. She crosses her arms, closes her eyes. The hat begins to vibrate and oh! Out pops a white rabbit, a gold pocket watch dangling around her neck. She holds it by the collar and inspects it without uttering a word, while her two spectators watch in awe.

"He's not supposed to be here" laughs Kiana, "But he's kind of cute, so...Ah! don't you go too! Eh, no, I said! Ah...Well, looks like it's not my day."

She turns to the audience and bows to the applause. Eileen stands up, caught by the urge to play in turn. Her fingers slip out of Mei's grip. She strides over to Kiana and grabs her sleeve. They challenge each other's eyes before laughing.

And so the evening ends, in fragments of joy scattered among the shards of broken glass.

Happiness ends with deplorable ease.

In an embrace supposed to be the end of sorrow, the last tears of the day are born.

Eileen has been asleep for an hour already, but the two women have not fallen yet into slumber. Sitting in front of the fireplace, they hold hands before the mighty flames. The gentle crackling gradually draws Kiana's eyes closed. She rests her head on Mei's shoulder and counts her exhales. Their hearts beat in rhymes.

Mei hears her breath dull as exhaustion overtakes Kiana, so she gives her a gentle shake, whispering,

"Time for bed, sunshine".

Kiana rubs her eyes.

"Um...what did you call me?"

Mei blushed. Why can't she keep her mouth shut? She had the feeling that Kiana was the kind of person who liked nicknames. Therefore, she wanted to try...at least once. Now she regretted it. How embarrassing is that? She wants to disappear any minute to avoid Kiana's potential reaction.

"It's cute. Do you want me to call you something different too? After all, we aren't students anymore. Maybe something like babe or darling? Ehe, I see you blushing, Mei."

Mei shakes her head firmly.

"We're not sweethearts"

"We're not? Yet we're two women in a somewhat compromising situation, don't you think? Hey, don't make that face, I'm just kidding" Kiana straightens up to space out by the hearth, "If these things make you uncomfortable you can tell me. Even if we were lovers in the past, you don't have to want to be again"

"It's nothing against you, I'm disturbed by recent events. It's painful and nostalgic at the same time. But all these memories aren't happy, even the ones about you can make me nauseous" Mei said, holding her forehead as sweat beaded there, "Don't stay so close to the fire..."

She decayed everything to the touch; she couldn't do anything without turning possessions to dust. Strangers became rag dolls she could wield at will. She found no pleasure in this gehenna. She deserved torment for her sins, and the heavens had given her thunders to scream into and elegies to weep over.

Sensing the anguish in Mei's gaze, Kiana hugged her shoulders in a firm grip and looked her straight in the eye.

"Come on, Mei, what's past is past, you've got the right to be happy" she sketches one of her typical Kaslana smiles, a perfect Cupid's Bow twisted by an undertow that gives it an irresistible charm, "Thank you for existing. These are my heartfelt words, I could say it a hundred times, I can do it if you want - even if it would take time."

"Thank you" she leans against Kiana's chest and closes her eyes, "We should rest"

Kiana embraces her. She thinks of the crimson moon that watches over a city stained with blood, and all those incandescent stars that have died in a sky that continues to show off. Because even in death, they refuse to fade.

Mei thinks her heart might explode; she thinks she can't take any more affection. Her hands are clammy and her vision blurred. Her aching body breaks under the excess.

Kiana carries her to the bedroom and lays her on the bed, sweeping up the blankets and covering her body with most of them. She realizes she has a hundred useless pillows and sheets for a single person - never mind, now they have their purpose.

Seeing an expression of contentment trace itself across Mei's lips, she observes his face with shared glee: she adores the trembling curve of his lips, the shiver that sends goose bumps vibrating down his bare arms. She removes Mei's unnecessary clothes with a hasty, timid brush. Mei is speechless, her eyebrows unknotted, Kiana pulls a sweater over her head and draws her into her arms.

"The last time I slept in someone's arms was before my mother died," Mei confides, her voice hoarse with sleepiness.

"Must be a lovely memory," she replies, before she succumbs to the temptation of Morpheus.

But the son of Hypnos is not done with her yet. He tortures her in her dreams, dripping sweat and blood, sweeping away flower petals to replace them with bloodshed. She trembles all over, images forming in the turmoil of her heart.

She sees a swarm of black holes turn into a row of people in mourning clothes. The knell rings once, then twice, to usher in a fever dream.

The coffin stretches in a ridiculous manner as she approaches it. The name on top flickers, the letters jumbled and blurred. When Kiana stops to place some already faded flowers on the coffin-turned-headstone, the words are no longer readable.

The sky is gray, the clouds nebulous in depth. A park stretches out before her, facing the cemetery, and she sees children playing on the slides and swings. The heavy atmosphere forces her to leave. She plunges into the thrill of the playground, taking her turn to sit on a bench and listen to the laughter. The rain begins to fall suddenly as she arrives, as if the storm is chasing her. She sighs, used to such a phenomenon. The air reeks of rot and blood.

Bodies lie at her feet as she rises. Deformed beasts drool and devour the putrid remains. Cypress trees dance, leaves fall and die on the ocean floor. She looks down at her feet, sailing on a bloody sea. The monsters are there, only a few meters away, uttering inhuman moans, their teeth crunching with every breath.

Helpless, she simply watched them approach. Their open mouths revealed their full jaws, made of clumps of metal and flesh over a line of unspeakable, unsightly tooth cavities.

They whisper in her ear. They crawl towards her shoes, licking the damp ground, others seeing satisfaction in the rancid iron smell coming from the stiffs entwined on the asphalt. She can't resist, hearing them whisper the number of her beloved, underground, from whence the squalid beasts came. Then, in a moment of terminal lucidity, she asks them if her beloved will be all right.

Not now, who's going to be okay six feet under? She wonders about the future, the afterlife of a time that feels shattered by its antiquity. They respond with a common howl, their fetid breaths causing her to hiccup in horror. It's her first reaction to this nightmare. Everything suddenly becomes real.

But no matter how much she wants to leave it's impossible.

A nightmare wouldn't be a nightmare if it were guilty of pleasure.

In that case, she has no choice but to fight. It's something she's done all her life, one of the simplest things anyone could ask her to do. She pushes, bites, scratches, spreading crimson over what isn't already crimson. In the end, she runs, gasps for breath and tries to scale the walls of this illusory prison. On the other side of the park, through the metal gates, she sees a figure lying solitary on the ground. It's a woman in a position of extreme suffering, her body torn apart, lying in a pool of red as a blade stabs at the center of her chest. The faint moonlight illuminates various bloody marks along her thigh to her heart.

The hands firmly gripping the gates give way. Kiana falls backwards and recoils on her elbows, jerking. She is pale, her teeth chattering in tandem. Two blood streaks stain her cheeks.

"Mei-senpai...?"

Her voice deepens, burning into the depths of her throat to leave an eternal burn.

The ground crumbles beneath her feet, she falls with the lifeless puppet. As the whole sky falls piece by piece, she spots the shadow of a smile on the face of one of the creatures. The beast watches her with that unstoppable expression.

Kiana screams.

"Kiana!"

Her body straightens into an awkward arch, her chest throbs with the frantic rhythm of her anxiety. Mei's shadowed silhouette appears to her in the total darkness of the room. Her sleepy eyes and slow demeanor remind her of the creatures in her nightmares. Kiana grabs her grip and slams her onto the back of the bed, panting.

Her vision flickers.

"Mei...?"

"You were having a nightmare," Mei tells her calmly, staring into her blood-injected irises, "Do you feel better now? You looked like you were suffering a lot."

Kiana swallowed, tears welling in her eyes.

"No."

Quicker than a battle-ready blade, Mei draws her into a hasty, cautious embrace, avoiding brushing against her skin. Her hot breath makes Kiana feverish. She grabs her cheeks and pulls her into a kiss. Their lips collide. She has the taste of blood and war, Kiana muses, as she deepens the kiss. She plays with the end of Mei's sweater and stares at her through their short break. Her hand slides under the crumpled clothes in search of her warmth. Her summer is eternal; beneath the rough scars, she recognizes the wisp of sand from a distant beach.

The touch quickly feels so addictive. Kiana first searches for the saber marks on Mei's stomach, following the line of her hunger-stricken abdominals, up to the curve of her chest where her fingers linger. She caresses her heartbeat and melts into the sensation. She drifts from their contact to kiss the exact spot where her blessed flesh and her clumsy, agonized heart meet. Mei gasps for air. At the sound, Kiana lets the garment slip from her hand and returns to the distress that grips her.

She feels ashamed of Mei's expression, from her wide eyes to her jerky lips. She looks down and takes her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry I overstepped your boundaries."

Several minutes passed, filled with apprehension and doubt. Eventually Mei spoke up, though still moved by the sudden display of affection.

"It's all right" she tried in vain to entwine her fingers with Kiana's, unable to separate the stern grip, "You haven't hurt me."

"I can't help being selfish and always wanting more. I was hoping you wouldn't witness the kind of person I can be..."

"You haven't changed" retorts Mei, "You're still the same idiot I used to exchange kisses with before leaving for work, the one I used to miss school with even though I knew I might lose marks on my grades, the one who saved me from my insecurities when I was at my lowest"

"No, you don't know how wrong that is!" she exclaims caught up in a brutal ardor that she then regrets, she stands up on her knees and looks out beyond the door to see if she spots Eileen's awake figure but returns to the end of the bed seeing that she hasn't woken her, "I chased you for so long, I didn't even give you a choice. Even...Today, you're in my home, in my bed, just like I wanted. I pushed you to love me, and now I'm even trying to steal your chastity."

"No."

"No...? What are you talking about, Mei-senpai? You see that I...that we...come on! Don't tell me everything isn't…"

Mei wants to speak, but denies herself. There's no point right now in unleashing her emotions, using them like flames that rather than lighting the way would only burn Kiana. She prefers to let the lull come and wait. She waits for Kiana to stop sobbing, letting her cry as she pleases. Talking would lock words in cages. Once spoken, Mei would be unable to change them. They could be mocked, ineffective or inadequate. They could become a dangerous game. She fears their eternity, for words are not ephemeral in the way we define them: the anger sobbed aloud and the innocent candor snatched away are very real. All it takes is a yes or a no, a syllable detached from its single second of existence to change a life forever.

Mei has often thought it best to keep quiet and listen to others. If they were wrong, it wouldn't be her fault, and if they decided to drag her into their downfall, she could pretend.

But...such a way of being pushed her into a life of suffocating loneliness.

"I'm here" she said rather than a simple how-are-you, "I'm not going to leave you. You have the right to be afraid or feel invalid, it's the same for me. Our relationship is a hasty dream that probably turned out to be rather short-lived. I'm sick, at least time makes it so. I'm going to die for my sins. But you, Kiana...you deserve to be happy. I love you more than anything...More than the whole world, and you know it, I've already told you, lest this be the last time. I...I love the way you smile...Did I...Did I ever tell you I'd fallen in love with your smile? Just now, you looked so happy for a second, I could only look at you because...That's what I like."

She reaches up to kiss her, and resigns to rest her lips on Kiana's forehead and then on her hands, bound in a tight cell, she goes down and kisses her wrist, her fingertips agitated with shivers.

"Sunshine" she finds the hollow of her neck and soothes her collarbone, "You're the most beautiful thing that's ever happened to me, in all my existences. I pray every day that fate will one day offer us a sweeter ending."

She finds her lips with the aroma of tears. Kiana thinks it's time she accepted her sin.

If being loved by a Herrscher is her salvation, she wants to become the protector of the river of oblivion.

*

Chapter 16: Chapter XIII

Chapter Text

The sun has just risen and the earth is fresh beneath her fingers. Fresh and moist, she remarks, the grains slipping to reach the fertile field. It's tolerably cold, around ten degrees, the golden rays stretch through the canopy, coming closer and tending to illuminate the buds. Watering can in hand, the woman sees the fledglings emerge from their nests and fly off to seek refuge for the day, chirping and following each other on the gentle breeze.

It's an ephemeral current capable of making her hair float for a brief second. A subdued shadow leans against hers, and on her knees, she reaches out to bury in the holes the tiny seeds that later, if time permits, will come to build an empire. This is how the most beautiful things in this world are made, with a simple gesture of the hand, a being as ridiculous as it is futile, destined to shine far beyond expectations.

Yet as she turns over the soil with a tiny shovel, the pink-haired girl wonders if this isn't also how the world's greatest loneliness is created. Loneliness isn't about being alone in a secluded space, carved out to accommodate the unique soul of a being. To be lonely is to inhabit a social embrace, an abyss of laughter and discussion that belongs to everyone but the being you are.

"Auntie Mei, is....What is love? Is it like planting your seeds? In books it's like...You have to make them grow with time and affection. Loving is like that too, isn't it?"

Mei turns over the soil above Eileen's plantations and even though no words are spoken aloud, she prays to the apostles to spare these young buds. In the same way, she turns to the child and offers her a smile-approved response.

"Love...No, it's not that simple but you're right, love is like those seeds, it takes time and passion to make sure they become resplendent and sometimes some people forget to water their plants so they die and others refuse to expose them to the Sun which makes them wilt."

"Oh...Okay...I...I have a friend I like a lot, does Auntie Mei like Miss Kiana a lot?"

A momentary neglect and the orchard could be swept away by the morning frost, uprooted by crows or stray animals, it could be forsaken, out of the gardener's melancholy, and each operation would have to be repeated with a little less amusem*nt and desire; with a hint of fear added to a feeling of doubt already present at the first fall.

Mei steps back with Eileen, crossing the garden to the pathway entrance where the travelling salesman from whom they'd bought the gardening tools is waiting. Mei receives the bill and pays it in a courteous exchange, the man in the straw hat graciously thanks her and asks Eileen to hold out her hand. He tells her that if her mother thinks she's a good child, she can come and ask him for a handful of sweets to reward her efforts.

After a laugh, she turns to Eileen and beckons her to follow.

"To answer your question, can you tell me a little about your friend?"

"Sure, her name is Stelle. She's my age and we went to the same school. She has a twin brother, but she told me he was smaller. Very small. Tin...?"

"Tiny."

"Tiny. I miss them both..Does Auntie Mei think I could go back to school?"

"Well...Right now, I need to talk to Kiana. We must arrange to find people capable of looking after you, providing you with suitable care and possessing the money necessary for your education."

"Oh...aren't Auntie Mei and Mrs. Kiana married? I want to stay with you! You're beautiful and kind like Mommy and Kiana is dumb like Daddy"

"Eileen, I...I'll stay with you as much as I can but you have to understand that it's hard for people like us to look after a child. Besides, Kiana and I aren't married. It would be illegal to keep you with us without the agreement of a family member or someone willing to be your guardian."

"It's not impossible," says Eileen, convinced that she can still get Mei to think about it, "Why don't you marry Mrs. Kiana?"

"It's...complicated"

" Miss...Kiana was crying last night, I heard. Did you two have a fight?"

"No, quite the opposite. You know, Eileen, sometimes adults cry too. The world isn't always easy and sometimes we're afraid of not succeeding or not being enough. We have to be strong, to protect children like you. But Kiana...Has had a tough life, she's suffered a lot of loss and she's often bottled up her emotions so be nice to her, okay?"

More than anyone, Raiden Mei knows that it's impossible to change a person who doesn't want to change, or to save a shipwreck destined to sink. Kiana Kaslana reached out to her and changed her destiny. It was a fateful event. Not a miracle. Because they found each other, two identical souls on divergent ships. She felt unable to bear the pressure of a life with the Honkai. Even though Kiana was there for her, letting her know she was understood, some days felt like imminent death. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, searching for answers.

Today, she sees the scars, marks made to remind her of her struggle; and her victory.

That's not to say that the pain has disappeared completely, or that the anxiety has dissolved over the years. She found the options she'd always had, paths of light she'd refused to consider.

Knowing that Kiana feels the same makes her feel understood again. Yet, in a way, she wants to be able to make her happy and forget that one day there was this agony.

"Kiana dreams of living by the sea," she confesses to Eileen, "and sometimes I dream she may love someone else."

"Why? Isn't she the one you love?"

They stand in front of the door. Mei reaches for the handle and stops halfway. She steps down from the stoop and gazes at the village in the distance, ready to wake up for another day.

"Sometimes...Love is also about accepting that we could hurt the people who matter most to us. Out of selfishness, we do things that seem right but can actually break other people's hearts."

It occurs to her that she should go and pray around midday, kneeling before the altar, hands tied so as not to risk touching anything. With the singular purity of a devotee, she might unravel the will of the gods of this world. Or at least, find a glimmer of salvation.

"When you love someone very much, it's hard to be away from them or to see them with someone else. What's harder is to choose to let them go".

"But...why would anyone do that...?"

The door slides open, perhaps because her back is turned, she can't hear the sound of the latch or the hoarse breath of the person on the other side. In her own way, she inhales painfully, ready to reveal her worst mistake.

"Because you can't stay tied to the past forever."

Looking up, she realizes that the person in front of her is not Kiana. Eileen's weak voice struggles to reach her.

"'Auntie Mei'..."

Standing with a bloody sword drawn in her left hand is Acheron. She wears a hunter's outfit with a white jabot, a collar that frames her stoic expression, decorated with a brooch reminiscent of an immaculate light-blue gem. Behind her back, a long cape descends to her ankles, where two rusty iron chains creak on the floor. She slowly waves her free hand and tilts her head to the side in a subtle movement, her black leather hat following suit, masking the devastating glare in her blood-teared eyes.

"Confront your past. Can you handle it, Raiden Mei?"

Chapter 17: PART III. Odes to sunshine

Chapter Text

Forgive me Darling, for every word I say —

my heart is full of you…

Yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me…

I shall grow more and more impatient until that dear day comes, for til now,

I have only mourned for you; now I begin to hope for you.

Emily Dickinson.

INTERLUDE/

In tangled memories, past and future meet in a wild tango. The necropolis of souls welcomes dreams without a home. Shards of glass splatter the bloody remains of youthful hope. Laugh and cry at the soiled pages. Words remain unfinished. In this ocean of memory, ephemeral moments sometimes cross paths. The woman stares into the epistolary mirror, where the shattered fragments of her existence are etched.

She drowns in the splashes of scarlet flowers and clamps her hands over her ears to escape the screams.

She wanders in the void, contemplating the black sun.

Snowflakes float in the air at first glance, but she soon realizes they are ashes. On her lips, they taste like blood, a scent that reminds her of a kiss. Her footsteps stir the dark waves; souls in torment float by in shadows the size of a hand, clutching her shoulders and ankles, trying to slow her down. She knows her muse; the way to the lake is only a step away. Yet she trusts these tiny beings.

They are part of the landscape, an ephemeral place of oblivion and suffering. She must lead them by the hand. All that matters is that they reach their goal. Life is simple, or so we think. An infant born of blood and tears quickly learns that it is a being of flesh. Little by little, it grows to become aware of the world around it.

Human lucidity in the face of death can be limited. This is why nothingness has chosen a human to watch over the starry shore.

Unlike popular belief, the afterlife is a peaceful place. At least the waves it guards are. She has heard tales, for even in these places, thoughts persist, though they are quickly impeded by the dyke. It was said that here, somewhere in the darkness, lived those who would never again be human. She looks at the new arrivals, a couple holding hands. Their faces are aged, and their features are streaked with pale wrinkles. The lines of their hands have faded with age. They hold hands with phlegm. Acheron leaps down from the bridge where she stands, and when she lands in front of the pair, her umbrella is in hand.

Every time someone dies, a shower of blood pours down at the entrance. If you call it an entrance, it's not; it's just that most people arrive here, and the rare cases that have been found elsewhere are so few that they tend to be forgotten. The door is actually a rock. This place is made up of an uninterrupted river whose waters are as dark as the solitude that reigns here.

Mountains of unseen heights stand on either side like an inseparable pair. At first, visitors found this ironic, as the riverside woman could count on the fingers of one hand the number of blissful couples who had arrived together and left together. The notion that separates these two states is more remote than one might think. Why was a place like this meant to remind us of the nature of human union? One would have thought that, on the contrary, death would separate people.

The Deathmaker had spent so many years here that it was impossible for her to contradict these people. Somehow, she remained convinced that if there were so few people who were truly happy in love, it was also because they didn't die side by side. She herself, in her human life, blurred and erased like a palimpsest glimpsed by many, had left her beloved. Her face had become illusory, and her voice and name had become dreamlike passages. She could hear a name echoing along the isolated paths of these lands, a hint of irony to let her know that, despite her role as guide, she was lost.

She met popular figures ranging from painters to poets to politicians. The first category wrote elegies about her; the passionate ones depicted her with their fellow artists, from ink words to white canvas. In the snowy mist, sitting on the edge of the rocks, bathed in the mist of light, they loved her way of being; her pale skin was the image of a monochrome dream. Even if, for her, they were more rhapsody than sonnet, she reveled in these fleeting passengers. She read in the authors' verses the story of her humanity, told with the help of a stranger. A stranger who knew her better than she knew herself. She hadn't seen her between the streams of this dream, but that probably meant she was still alive.

Year after year, she waited.

The two newly departed turn pale. Acheron advises them to keep moving—who knows what happens to those who linger too long in places where they're not meant to be? They drag their invisible chains as a reminder of the failures of their mortal lives, following their guide with fright. It's normal to be afraid; it's the immediate reaction that follows the revelation of one's death, whether it has arrived or is imminent. Acheron was afraid of death; she thought it cruel, but she feared it above all for its mysticism.

She has laid flowers on abandoned graves, watched lives being destroyed, and witnessed wars and peace. She's not a judge of the future; she doesn't know her own fate. Perhaps she is the next person to die, and perhaps she will never see her predestined one again.

Acheron is convinced that there is a world beyond. Perhaps if she follows the path of the Styx, she can find solace in glimpsing future heroes drowned in immortality.

She's not afraid of Lethe, the abyss of her sorrows. She fears losing what counts at the end of her journey. After drinking gallons of the water of oblivion, this is her doom. Despite everything, Acheron dreams.She dreams of a glimpse of light.

"Isn't it tough...?" The woman murmurs in her direction, rubbing her hands together to rid herself of the sticky ashes falling from the sky. "Your work, I mean."

Acheron would like to smile at them to comfort them, but it's not her duty; her mission is not to spare the dead. She has to make sure that finality obtains its gain, that origin gives birth to life, that truth is found, that...

"No," she says simply, for a lack of other words.

They're incapable of understanding. This doesn't change whether the visits are daily or yearly; stays vary from person to person. Acheron is the soul that has persisted for a hundred years, showing no sign of dissolving in the afterlife. No other soul can last forever. They try; young people try to fight reincarnation; they don't want to change; they prefer to stay in these places, witnessing the affrays.

"Don't you want to leave? You're human; my husband says you're still a pretty young lady; you might find a husband up there," adds the woman, coming up to face her. "You... look like my little girl. She's studious and stoic; I'm afraid she'll put teaching before joy all her life."

"Don't worry, the Kamis will look after her."

The man shakes his head, his gray hair and balding head gleaming in the glow of the flames below.

"We don't believe in gods. We've loved each other since we met, but we refused to marry, knowing that in the eyes of others, it was heresy. But you know, we only have one life."

Acheron could tell her otherwise. Humans are destined to be reincarnated, so they exist in an inexplicable infinity.

"You're right. Whatever we do during our existences, the finality is here. There is no other way out. If you have regrets, express them before this altar. Nothingness is willing to listen to the lamentations of the fallen. If you are not freed from these sorrows, you will not be reborn properly.".

Having accepted, they begin to pray in silence. Acheron moves away to leave them in peace. Not far away, she finds a bench to sit on near a stone arch. The view overlooks a cliff engraved with the names of all the Kamis who were born here. Clouds of mist blur her vision. She can perceive jerky movements, weeping in the midst of an eternal night. She is saddened by the plains on the horizon.

She's been alone since she arrived, and the people down below have no idea of her face. They notice her, covered in sweat, at the foot of dead trees, and smile at her with all their teeth. It's a terrifying sight that she finds distressing. They crawl with their worn palms, gradually moving away along the red, sandy beach. People like that are never redeemed.

"We have finished," the two passengers tell her.

She joins them and thanks them for their concern. They say it's only natural to follow her path. Acheron enjoys every moment with these people, just as she enjoyed being painted and written in blood. These are precarious pleasures that she engraves in her heart. In the ebony waves' relentless ebb and flow, she detects a glittering fugitive in the shape of a frail firefly. She sketches the outline of a fleeting happiness before returning to her abyss of thought.