“Take shelter! Hurry!”

  A knight roared as a bolt of lightning rained down from the crimson skies above him. Unlike the typical white lightning that often danced across the world, this one was darker, its bolt formed from bck and red tendrils.

  His armor served as the perfect conductor, and a single strike was all the skies needed to end the life of the man who had sworn himself to protect the innocent.

  But in this world, few remained alive, much less innocent.

  Dark ghouls bit into the corpses of the fallen, empowering themselves with tremendous speed and physical prowess. Decades of training were not nearly enough for the Knights of Fridan to repel the anomaly that stood before them.

  Fmes rained down from above as massive dragons, each the size of three homes, attempted to char the living dead. Immune to the fire, the ghouls continued their advance, caring little for the bzing heat inflicted upon them.

  Hope streamed from the survivors’ eyes as they found themselves cornered with nowhere to go. Without remorse or emotion, the dark ghouls sank their fierce bites into every piece of fresh meat they found, multiplying their numbers with each infection.

  Like a door smming in a peaceful home, a sharp crack split the air and shocked the very clouds above, as a dark figure shot through them in a streak of indescribable speed.

  “Am I too te?”

  The young dy asked herself in a robotic tone, her light blue hair contrasting against the blood-drenched skies above her. By wearing her old uniform, she had hoped to spark one st light of courage within herself and revive the memories of who she once was.

  The garment had been designed for sun-drenched hallways and the innocent, dusty scent of old parchment, never meant to endure clouds that bit into the cloth like shards of gss. With each piece of fabric torn away, it stripped the st remnants of the girl who had once worn it.

  Despite her haphazard efforts, the memories never surfaced, leaving her a hollow shell in a uniform that no longer fit her soul.

  The ghouls that inhabited the ground couldn’t reach the sorceress soaring through the skies, so the apocalypse responded by calling down hellfire to dethrone her from the heavens. It cimed itself as the skies’ only master and had no intention of sharing its pace.

  But the apocalypse’s efforts were in vain, as the girl effortlessly dodged the projectiles raining down upon her, executing her maneuvers with such grace that one would assume she knew the projectiles’ trajectories before they were even conceived.

  With a single blink, her turquoise eyes shifted to an unnatural hue, born from something otherworldly.

  Stacking one atop another, a new set of eyes glinted into existence. They yered over her own, overpping without repcing them, as if something beneath her skin had chosen to look out. Around her blue iris, rge white pupils formed, clear and faceted like crystal.

  She scanned every body left untouched by the ghouls, abandoned as nothing more than chunks of human and demi-human flesh scattered across the earth.

  To the untrained eye, they were merely spoils of war, but for Oktavia, they served a different purpose. The magical circuits of the dead took the form of bright cyan cogs, illuminating the flesh from within as their gears fred in one final, desperate cry for usefulness.

  To siphon one’s mana was equal to theft, equivalent to consuming one’s soul. Although the skill and technique wasn’t widely accessible to most mages, the act still remained a grand taboo in the eyes of educated individuals around the world.

  A shared w that was never meant to be broken.

  But eyes that would judge her no longer held light, and Oktavia never intended to bow to social pressures. If the world itself branded her a sinner against humanity, it was a role she was willing to accept for the sake of saving her home.

  “Tome, calcute the estimated leylines required for a Manastream Jump.”

  The hovering book behind her was thick and well-worn, its cover engraved with sigils of varying shapes and colors.

  Upon hearing her command, the washed-out pages flipped violently as calcutions stacked faster than the wind could follow.

  Strangely, the process did not end, no matter how fast the pages turned. Normally, a person could flip through even a massive dictionary in seconds. Yet even after fifteen seconds, the book continued to analyze, as if it contained an infinite amount of information.

  Despite all its efforts, it was still too slow for Oktavia.

  Time was a luxury she could not afford.

  “APPROXIMATELY—”

  The book spoke in the same mechanical tone the mage had used earlier.

  No, if one were to listen to them side by side, they would cim that the non-sentient book possessed more humanity than the person of living flesh and bones beside it.

  “Eight million.”

  Before it could finish, Oktavia had already run the calcutions herself. If time had allowed it, she might have given the book the satisfaction of completing its sentence.

  In her early years of inexperience, she had often relied on the spellbook to learn the secrets of magic, and over time, she had created a feature that allowed it to speak and perform spell calcutions in real time.

  But now, she had no use for the book’s capabilities, and its voice had become more of a nuisance than a help.

  “Readying magical energy.”

  Her voice echoed as symbols and markings encased her entire body.

  Unlike the magical gears inhabiting the deceased below, hers bore a far more chaotic structure, standing in stark contrast to their neat, organized lines.

  Typically, magical gears drew power from two cores: a source from which mana was drawn, and a transtor through which spells materialized into physical form. But Oktavia possessed only the source from birth, branding her an anomaly.

  Her unnatural glow caught her foe’s gaze as bck and red lightning cracked through the clouds, hurling bolts toward her in rapid succession.

  To Oktavia, however, these projectiles were no different from the hellfire she had already dodged throughout the crisis, especially with the unique ability that allowed her to perceive afterimages of the future.

  Rather than diverting her attention to evasive maneuvers, she looked over her shoulder slightly, facing toward the book behind her.

  “Status on the Tree of the Eighth.”

  Only one pce in her mind contained the number of leylines she required, and the mage fully intended to take advantage of its unique properties.

  From the ground, a dark figure donning a bck hood extended her arm, her body drenched in mud-like shadows. Ooze-like despair melted from the surface of her skin as the knights who had once approached her y on the stone-cold floor of the city’s pza, convulsing violently until no more spit ejected from their mouths.

  Within the very atoms of her skin, chains burst from her body like water streaming through a squeezed bag riddled with holes.

  The chains exploded forward with terrifying speed, making their way toward the only living thing they could detect, the beating heart of the sorceress who had just flown past them.

  “Celica!” Oktavia called out as she shifted her weight and twisted into a maneuver just sufficient enough for the dark steel to barely graze her hair.

  But her dodge did not satisfy the thrill of the hunt, and the chains redirected themselves, homing in on Oktavia’s soul signature. Her body tilted horizontally as she entered a state of freefall, deactivating her gravity manipution in hopes of granting herself enough time to run a rushed calcution in her head.

  As air resistance pushed against her forehead, her eyes locked onto the target that had unched the projectiles at her. Despite the death and disease surrounding her, a bck mole on the bloodstained ground did wonders to make the figure stand out.

  “Set. Reversing Gear.”

  There was little time to dodge, and she had no means of casting a protective spell in time. She debated simply tanking the hit, but freeing herself from the inevitable tendrils and regaining her strength would waste what little time she had left.

  Mechanical gears whirred within the book as it overexerted itself beyond its limits, rushing to its master’s aid without question or hesitation. As the spiked tip of the chain barely brushed the end of her fluttering robe, a barrier manifested from the book’s installed magical circuits.

  The shield sted a grand total of two seconds, but that brief window gave Oktavia the time she needed to initiate her counterattack.

  In her focus, she had completely ignored the now dead spellbook, its pages burning with inextinguishable purple fmes.

  Utilizing her gravity manipution, she hovered just above the ground before pcing her palm down and thrusting herself backward. Remaining inverted, her eyes fixated on the relentless projectiles racing toward her.

  As her body flipped through the air, magical energy flowed through her veins, shaking her very bone structure.

  Winding her arm back like a spring-loaded toy on the verge of snapping, she visualized the energy within and before her.

  If the world brimmed with mana, she would use its abundance to disintegrate the unknown.

  With a swift punch, a blue-and-white beam of pure arcane energy shot forward, unleashing a screech that deafened even the senseless ghouls, as if reality itself shrieked in pain at the csh.

  The beam of energy cshed against the feeble tendril chains before vanishing into nothingness, leaving not even a hint of smoke to prove its prior existence.

  Although her eyes were obscured by the bck hood she wore, Oktavia had no doubt that the being behind the attack was shocked to be countered so easily.

  Even in her emotionless state, Oktavia couldn’t help but reminisce about the times she had struggled to cast such a simple magical ability. The first time she attempted the technique, her arm had come clean off, forcing her to find a repcement.

  Before her stood a being capable of opposing her at full force, and if she had been free of responsibility, there might have existed a world in which she would have indulged in such “fun.”

  But death waited for no one, not even the world itself.

  As Oktavia folded her legs to leap into the air, chain tendrils burst from the figure once more, determined to keep her grounded.

  Sparks from cshing metal flew before her as a red-haired knight rushed forward with a raised bde, deflecting the incoming attack.

  Her hair matched the apocalyptic skies, yet her armor procimed absolute purity. She held her stance tall and unwavering, undisturbed by the stench of iron that seeped into her nostrils.

  The knight’s green eyes mirrored the flora that had once thrived in the nation upon which she now stood, and in her two hands she held twin bdes forged for the sole purpose of combat.

  “Go Saya!”

  She excimed as a burst of wind propelled her straight into the enemy’s grasp.

  The woman knew, in truth, that she would not survive the battle, but she had fulfilled the duty she set for herself. Her final act of fulfillment allowed the mage to fly away at extraordinary speed, leaving a crater in the ground as she took off.

  Saya. The name the knight called her was one she had not heard in decades. So immersed in her studies and her new alias, she had forgotten the meaning once carried.

  Shedding her name for Oktavia was a role she had taken upon herself, concluding that human beings with names, emotions, and inner conflicts could never achieve true efficiency. To the mage, even the thought of a split second of emotional hesitation disgusted her.

  Grief was a word that no longer existed in her vocabury. The loss of a companion she once knew, who once supported her, should have devastated her beyond belief. And yet she merely thanked her analytically for the sacrifice before continuing along her flight path.

  In a blink of an eye, a golden fsh of light beamed past her. It was too fast to see, yet it carried a sense of horror that no light should ever behold. Coursing its way toward the hooded figure, the area behind her exploded, decimating the whole square, sparkles of pure yellow fizzling into the air.

  Her destination soon came into view; a massive silver airship hovering above what the citizens of the nation called the Tree of Life. Along its bark, a tangled network of disorganized cables siphoned as much magical energy as possible.

  She smashed through the roof and nded in the control room. Startled by her sudden entrance, the guards occupying the station raised their weapons. Whether they trembled because of her presence or from the anxiety of impending doom did not concern Oktavia.

  The lifeless gaze she bore did her no favors, unsettling those already on edge after losing friends and family during the conflict. Everyone stood at their wits’ end, and just as the tension threatened to snap, the light tapping of dress shoes echoed closer.

  A commanding voice followed, ordering the men to stand down.

  The voice belonged to a sharply dressed man in a suit, his blond hair and white dragon tail standing out among the surrounding silver helmets.

  “Report,” Oktavia demanded in a steady tone.

  The captain sighed at her disregard for human emotion. He had hoped to debrief her privately to preserve morale, but when that opportunity slipped away, he decided to y everything out in the open.

  “Not good. The Tree of Life was supposed to be fully linked to our systems by now, but we need at least thirty more minutes.”

  Furrowing her brows, she turned toward the tree’s massive bark. She activated her Soul Sight once more and observed the magical gears within, carefully studying its roots.

  The mana around her grew denser, and her body and soul felt heavier with each passing moment, a result of the Tree of Life cshing against an anomaly that had defied death countless times.

  Oktavia stood in the middle, witnessing the invisible war being fought before her. A sharp sting of dark miasma tugged at her focus, threatening to tear her concentration away. The sensation felt familiar, yet elusive.

  Bare footsteps that should have been inaudible were amplified nearly tenfold, the sound of freely flowing cloth fluttering sharply in her ears.

  The source of the miasma, the force that had provoked the Tree of Life, did not manifest spiritually or conceptually, but physically. With a single gasp, a voice called out, not only to Oktavia, but to everyone on the bridge of the airship.

  “How exciting! I don’t think you’ve taken this route yet!”

  Her high-pitched voice carried a tone of excitement, ced with a faint undercurrent of curiosity and mockery. She pressed a pale finger to her bare lips as a sadistic smile stretched across her cheeks from ear to ear.

  “It’s not a bad pn at all, honestly. I’m actually surprised to see you even got the freakin’ tree involved! What a hoot!”

  The guards pointed their weapons at her, just as they had done to Oktavia moments earlier.

  But unlike the mage, who only graced them with a soulless gaze, the pale girl snapped her fingers. As if on cue, feathers of light burst from the guards’ skin. Their bodies twisted into grotesque, birdlike forms for a fleeting instant before exploding in the blink of an eye.

  Confetti made of innards rained down from where their legs once stood.

  Screams tore through the room as some tried to run for the exit, only to find it sealed shut by the very lockdown they had imposed. Gncing slightly over her shoulder, Oktavia stared bnkly at the girl, unaffected by the deaths unfolding around her.

  “They’re from Atri, right? So I thought I’d give them a real taste of freedom. Freedom feathers!”

  Within a ritualistic circle of blood, the young girl, one that could easily be mistaken for a child, stood amidst the chaos.

  Silver hair cascaded far past her height, flowing freely and whipping like a silken fg in the fiery winds pouring through the jagged gaps in the shattered roof.

  She wore only a hastily thrown-together shirt, a garment donned as if merely to satisfy the bare minimum of human decency rather than any desire for style or substance. The fabric hung pin and unadorned, cking even the smallest accessory to catch the light.

  Her blood-red eyes mirrored Oktavia’s in opposition. Cold calcution met bright, unrestrained excitement.

  “Fifth...”

  The title displeased the pale girl. Pushing her lips all the way to one end of her mouth, she pouted.

  “I can’t believe you called me by my official title. You’re absolutely zero fun, y’know? I hope next time you learn to be more alive.”

  “Not gonna lie to you though, I think my favorite version of you was when you were angry all the time, can we bring that one back again?”

  To the onlookers, she was merely rambling, spinning a web of nonsense. While her voice sounded hollow to unknowing ears, her words festered within Oktavia, a rot gnawing at the edges of her existence.

  However, no matter how deeply it unsettled her, there was no time to respond. The risk inherent in Oktavia’s intent was immense, but it remained safer than waiting for the airship’s systems to recover.

  Without a word, she unched herself back through the shattered roof and descended toward the colossal Tree of Life.

  Rivaling the tallest towers ever built, its branches pierced even the clouds themselves, casting a vast shadow over the city below like a silent, watchful guardian.

  But now was the time for said guardian to awaken, and do its job.

  She lifted her arm and unleashed the same beam she had used on the chains. The sheer output sent kinetic waves rippling across the soil, tearing it apart and exposing one of the roots. Its glow was unlike anything humanity could produce.

  If mankind emitted light comparable to a mp, then the tree’s magical energy seemed like the sun itself. Even for someone as experienced as Oktavia, casting a spell on the scale she intended bordered on the impossible.

  But behind her y nearly a lifetime of experience, a contingency pn forged for the very moment now unfolding before her. Without hesitation, she leapt into the crater and gripped the glowing root, the magical gears of the world itself, with her bare hands.

  The instant her flesh touched the rough, wooden texture of the tree, her body screamed in agony as her own gears shrieked in protest. What had once glowed a brilliant turquoise now flickered violently into warning red, repeating in relentless pulses.

  Electric jolts tore through every nerve, demanding that she abandon whatever madness she attempted. Her body unraveled and reassembled with each passing second, her consciousness slipping in and out of existence.

  Above her, the airship that once loomed in the sky burst into a fiery inferno. Shards of metal and fragments of human remains rained down upon the struggling mage.

  From the smoke, the silver-haired girl emerged, descending zily toward Oktavia as if gravity were nothing more than a suggestion.

  She positioned herself so precisely that no matter what action she chose, the chance of Oktavia retaliating fell below zero. Had she wished it, the game they had pyed for countless looped centuries could have finally come to an end.

  But the silver-haired girl pyfully giggled.

  It wasn’t aimed at mocking Oktavia’s suffering, nor even at her efforts, but simply at the implication of another attempt.

  “So you do still feel pain!”

  “Woooowww, I guess emotions and physical reactions really aren’t the same. You really are still human to the core, Ocky!”

  “The show this time around was a solid, six out of ten? I think that’s quite generous.”

  “I hope you do well to entertain me better next time though.”

  Like a lock sliding into pce, Oktavia’s mind finally fixed on its objective. A magical circle erupted beneath her feet, its light expanding outward until it wrapped around the entire pnet.

  A low hum rose from the pnet’s core, amplified by the Tree itself, a final groan of mercy for not only the apocalypse crawling toward them but also for the mage who had bored over the world the moment it had awakened.

  But Oktavia had no intention of accepting slothful excuses.

  Her body convulsed as magical gears ruptured through her skin, raw mana surging without restraint or command. Pain seared through every blood cell in her veins.

  Life she had known fshed before her eyes, her breath slowing into a steady rhythm, willing her heart to follow.

  Memories surged.

  Laughter that lingered like a lifetime. Kindness that felt as though the world itself had shifted. Love that had never wavered. It all returned, the life she had lived before the hunger for power and revenge overtook her.

  With a final sigh of resignation, she whispered, “Soul Symphony.”

  The bond between her will and the Tree of Life became one.

  An overwhelming warmth encased her body, burdened by weight no longer.

  Exploding in power, the magical circle drew all of reality inward.

  Time froze. Only the two mysteries, and the mystics remained in motion.

  Reality shifted, cracking with every pulse of the spell. The fiery bze before her vanished without a trace as the world slowly rewound into a version of itself it had forgotten.

  Lives once lost returned.

  Oktavia’s body began to shatter, her sense of being dissolving into dust. Blood was now a concept of the past, and her existence persisted only through her connection to the surrounding mana.

  The decomposed fauna regained life, as did the flora that thrived under sunlight.

  Times of day, along with the seasons, flew past faster than the speed of light.

  “And what makes you think you’ll be successful this time?” the mysterious girl asked, a twisted smile curling across her lips as her very existence teetered under the overwhelming pull of the magical singurity before her.

  Time contorted against its will, the magical circle acting as Oktavia’s personal winding clock.

  “I don’t.” Oktavia stated with a final smile of resignation, “I just have to trust myself.”

  “And him.”

  Unable to withstand the sheer surge of magical energy pouring from the Manastream, the world began to darken, as if a bck hole had consumed all of reality.

  But the mage had no intention of faltering. She held on, steadfast, until the very end. Her vision blurred as she released one final protective spell, sending a fre streaking into the air.

  Magical circles encased the pnet’s surface, stabilizing it as Oktavia completed the work she had set out to achieve. With a final snap, the process concluded in its entirety. Oktavia’s body dissolved into brilliant blue matter, her spell deactivating with her disappearance.

  The Tree remained in a primitive state, no longer reflecting the memories of the soul that had once merged with it.

  …

  From the depths of death and darkness, a single fragment of light endured, swimming through the vast nothingness in search of a pce to call home. It drifted, weightless and nameless, yet aware.

  A hand, once belonging to a lost identity, reached for the lonely light. The hand had no form or physical substance, existing only as a conceptual limb of a being now gone.

  At its touch, the void yielded, opening its gates to the reinstatement of the world it once knew.

  Muffled ughter and relieved sobs vibrated through the nothingness as the outline of a wooden cabin slowly emerged.

  Through what little sight the being possessed, she saw clearly what y before her: streams of tears falling from a man as he embraced a familiar figure.

  The cries of a newborn echoed in the air, yet they sounded neither distant nor foreign.

  The woman cradling her new body smiled and whispered, “Welcome to this world, Saya.”

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the being that was once Oktavia breathed without calcution.