Pomona stood in front of a mirrored wall, her hands reaching up to touch the vibrant green horns atop her head. She tilted her head, catching her reflection from different angles. Her bright green eyes glimmered as if they held fragments of stars.
“This is what I look like,” she whispered, awe filling her voice. “But my horns are bigger than before!”
She twirled and struck playful poses, disbelief mingling with delight. But as her laughter faded, a strange heaviness settled over her. She scanned the room, her gaze landing on a figure sitting quietly in the corner.
“Hello!” Pomona called, waving cheerfully. She approached the woman with tentative curiosity. “You remember me, right? I’m Pomona.” She tapped her own face. “And who are you? Are you Ruby? Your amber hair kind of fits the name Ruby.”
The stranger didn’t respond, her violet eyes distant and cold.
Pomona blinked, her smile faltering. “Oh! Ceci?” she guessed, her voice uncertain.
The woman shook her head, her voice low and detached. “Why do people keep calling me Ceci?”
Pomona flushed with embarrassment. “Oh, Kadohara, my bad! Then... Aria?”
“My name is...” The woman hesitated, her tone carrying a strange weight. “It’s Mysterika.”
Pomona’s brows furrowed, her confusion deepening. “Mysterika? I don’t remember anyone by that name among the survivors.” Her eyes flicked toward the lone exit at the far end of the room. “I came here the same way, though...”
“I...” Mysterika cut in, her expression unreadable. “I remember many of us looked similar. Once we were shoved in that tube, I woke up... like this.” She gestured toward herself, her voice flat, devoid of the wonder Pomona had felt moments ago.
Pomona studied her. Mysterika’s curly red hair faded to soft pink at the tips, her starry skin flecked with freckles. Her violet eyes, though striking, seemed hollow—like glass catching the light without holding it.
“Do you remember someone who always held you?” Pomona asked gently, her voice softening.
“Yes,” Mysterika replied after a pause. “She was tall. But I don’t see her here.”
A shadow crossed Pomona’s face. She swallowed hard, her mind racing with implications she wasn’t ready to voice. “So—”
Her words were cut short as the door slid open, and another figure entered the room.
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A man stepped forward, his triangular ears twitching slightly as he took in his surroundings. His bright green hair, wild and untamed, framed his sharp features. His presence was commanding, yet there was a softness in his expression as his eyes landed on Pomona.
Pomona’s figure went closer to man, "Hello, I'm Pomona," not wanting to assume this time, "and you are?"
Before she could react, he strode toward her, wrapping her in a firm, almost desperate embrace.
“I thought I lost you,” he murmured against her shoulder, his voice thick with emotion. “Pomona... I’m so glad you’re alive.”
Pomona froze for a moment, the warmth of his words sinking in. Slowly, she hugged him back, her fingers trembling as they gripped his shirt. “I... I didn’t think I’d see you again.” Her voice cracked, and a single tear slid down her cheek. “You don’t know how scared I was...”
Sage pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands resting on her shoulders. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
Pomona nodded, a tentative smile breaking through her tears. “Yeah. We’re here.”
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Mysterika watched the reunion from a distance, her arms on her knees. Her expression remained indifferent, though something flickered briefly in her eyes—something too fleeting to name.
Pomona glanced toward her, suddenly aware of the strange silence. She hesitated. “Oh, um, Sage—this is Mysterika. She...” Her voice trailed off, uncertainty creeping in. “She doesn’t remember much.”
Sage turned to Mysterika, his sharp green eyes studying her. “Mysterika, huh?” He nodded politely but said nothing more, his attention quickly returning to Pomona. The name does not ring a bell.
Mysterika didn’t seem to mind. She lingered by the wall, her gaze fixed on something neither of them could see.
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Behind the double-sided wall, the scientists observed, their faces a mixture of curiosity and calculation. For them, this wasn’t a reunion. It was data.
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Mysterika traced the number inscribed on her left cheek.
218.
The smooth surface of her skin felt cold to the touch, but the number—engraved deep—was unmistakable.
Pomona's number was 217, and Sage's 219.
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Pomona, Mysterika and Sage
image [https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Gc4rP7CbwAAUFTx?format=jpg&name=large]
Before she could contemplate it further, Ravenwood entered the room, his smile wide and eyes gleaming with an unsettling brightness. He seemed almost too enthusiastic, as if trying to mask something just beneath the surface.
"Pomona, Mysterika, Sage," he greeted, his voice cheerful but carrying a weight that hinted at something deeper. "We’ll take you to another room to explain everything." His tone softened as he glanced between them.
Sage stiffened, his jaw tightening, but his eyes betrayed the seething anger that burned inside him.
Pomona , on the other hand, seemed lost, her face drawn with worry and confusion. They had been through so much already, but this moment felt different—like a threshold they could never un-cross.
The sterile, white walls of the room echoed with an eerie silence as Elwes sat in the center, a pile of documents stacked neatly before her. The harsh light from the overhead bulbs reflected off her glasses, making her expression unreadable.
As they entered, Sage’s voice broke through the silence. “What’s going on? Where are we now?” He turned sharply to Elwes, trying to make sense of the situation.
Pomona clenched her fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She needed answers.
"We’re sorry," Elwes said, her voice low, heavy with something unspoken.
The sorrow on her face caught them both off guard, making the air feel thick with unresolved tension.
Isolde stepped forward, seizing the moment with practiced calm. "We’ve never had a successful doll soul incarnation before," she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion. Her eyes, though weary, reflected the weight of her words, as though each syllable carried the burden of centuries of failure. "It’s been centuries since a citizen of Aureline last set foot here."
Verdi let out a breath, his relief palpable despite the stoic nature of his demeanor. “It’s a miracle that three of you survived the tests,” he added, his voice quieter, almost in awe.
Sage felt his stomach twist. “Those trials?” He turned to Ravenwood, frustration clear in his tone.
Ravenwood’s gaze met theirs, the smile faltering as he said, “No one has survived for three hundred years.”
The others nodded solemnly. Elwes, Verdi, and Isolde—all of them seemed to understand something Sage and Pomona didn’t. Ravenwood spoke again, but the weight of his words sank like lead in their chests. “The last survivor, the one who bore the number 216, was gifted foresight,” he said. "He saved nations from famine and other crises."
“Foresight?” Pomona echoed, trying to piece the fragments together.
“Yes,” Ravenwood confirmed, his voice flat. "With Mirielle’s gift, you’ll be recognized as citizens of Enlierau." His expression remained unreadable, as though the excitement of this achievement didn’t quite reach him.
Isolde turned to them, her voice turning softer. "You’ll be taken to Mirielle’s tower, where she will bless you, and your abilities will come to fruition."
Pomona and Sage shared a glance, the pieces still not fitting together. But before they could ask more, Ravenwood spoke once more. "According to the scriptures, the gift is a seed."
"That’s what she said," Verdi chimed in, earning a light smack from Elwes.
Ravenwood continued, “With Mirielle’s blessing, you’ll also be granted recognition as citizens of Enlierau.” His words fell heavily in the air, laden with promises of a life they didn’t ask for but might have to accept.
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Elsewhere, in a room that smelled of roses and old parchment, Mirielle reclined gracefully on a white chaise, her flowing cyan robes glistening as they moved with her every gesture. Her hair shimmered a soft shade of blue, a contrast to the room’s calming ambiance.
A woman with stark black-and-white hair, Rachyl, knelt before her, her hands trembling as she held a piece of important news. The symbol of Kadohara—the Heart of the Kadohara quartet—glowed faintly in her palms.
“What is it, Rachyl?” Mirielle’s voice was soft, yet commanding.
Rachyl's hands trembled with good news. "It's about the Soul Doll Incarnate Project, my Kadohara."
Mirielle sighed, holding a mirror lazily. "Are you going to lecture me again about stopping the project?"
"No!" Rachyl's voice shook with the weight of the moment. "There are three successful dolls, my Kadohara."
"What?" Mirielle turned, her eyes covered by white linen, her voice exuding elegance. "Are you saying three souls have successfully transferred to Enlierau?"
Rachyl nodded firmly, despite the overwhelming weight of her words. “Yes, my Kadohara. They’ve successfully transferred from Aureline.”
Mirielle’s expression shifted. She rose from her chaise with a fluid motion, her hands signing documents with delicate precision. "Prepare the gift-giving ceremony and have the monarchs of Enlierau attend. How long was the last time I held this ceremony?"
"It has been three centuries, My Kadohara," Rachyl replied to her deity.
Her voice, though soft, rang with authority. "Make sure the vessels from the other three houses are present as well."
Rachyl understood the gravity of her words: the other three houses—the capitals of the remaining Kadoharas—would send their emissaries to witness the event. As one of the chosen vessels, Rachyl’s heart emblem glowed softly, signifying her honored status.
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Back in the dining area, the air was thick with tension as the three of them sat down for a much-needed meal. The simplicity of the chicken soup before them felt like a rare luxury after what they had endured, yet a heaviness still lingered.
"I’m leaving the past behind," Sage said suddenly, breaking the silence, his voice flat.
Pomona nearly choked on her spoonful of soup, wide-eyed. "What? What do you mean?"
He look at her, his expression hardening. “We’re dead, Pomona,” he said bitterly. “I’m considering giving myself a new name.”
Pomona’s heart ached at the bluntness of his words. She reached for her water, her hand trembling slightly. “Do you have something in mind?” she asked.
“Riven,” he said quietly. “Sage was a name given to me by parents who never came to my deathbed. Riven was the name of my favorite character.”
Pomona swallowed thickly. “So, that’s it? You’re just… letting go of who you were?”
Riven met her eyes, his gaze softening. “Maybe it’s time I let go of the old me.”
“I get it,” Pomona said, her voice small. “I think... I think I’ll call myself Zephyrine.” She looked away, as though afraid to meet his eyes.
“Zephyrine?” Riven raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Heh, copying me with the new name thing now?”
Pomona’s smile was faint, but there was something bittersweet in her eyes. “It was my girlfriend’s nickname for me,” she said softly.
Riven froze, the smile slipping from his face. “What happened to her?” His voice was low, almost a whisper.
Pomona’s expression darkened. “She loved me until the end,” she replied, her throat tightening. “She witnessed my murder, and I hope that with this new name, she’ll find me again.”
Riven’s throat was dry. “What happened to her?”
Pomona’s smile was sad, almost wistful. “That’s a story for another time,” she said gently, her voice quivering.