Their conversation was interrupted by a third person at the table, who was eating ravenously. Mysterika had her legs propped up on the table, and her hands were a mess, streaked with soup and crumbs. She was completely oblivious to the stares from the others.

"Are you going to finish that?" she asked, pointing to their bowls with a curious expression.

Pomona glanced at Sage and then shoved her bowl toward Mysterika. “You can have it, Mysterika!”

Sage, a little less generous, frowned but reluctantly pushed his own bowl forward. “Here, you can have it.”

Without hesitation, Mysterika snatched both bowls and dug in, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

She didn’t even seem to notice how quickly she was devouring the food.

Zephyrine blinked in disbelief, unable to concentrate on the conversation. “So, what’s your story, Mysterika?” she asked, trying to piece together who this strange woman was.

Mysterika paused her eating for just a moment, then looked up at Zephyrine with a blank expression.

"..."

Zephyrine raised an eyebrow. "O-kay..." she muttered.

"I don’t know," Mysterika finally replied, causing both of them to turn their full attention on her.

"I don’t exactly remember anything before I got here." She licked her fingers with a nonchalant air, as if she had no concern in the world about the strange situation she found herself in.

Riven frowned, his expression darkening. "What do you mean you don’t remember?" His voice carried a mix of confusion and concern.

Mysterika shrugged as she continued to eat, unfazed. "I said I don't exactly remember" , she clarified "flashes... images that come and go, mostly when I was in that room. But I can barely recall my own name."

“So you don’t remember your death?” Zephyrine asked quietly, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Mysterika paused mid-chew, looking at Zephyrine as if the question were completely absurd. "What...?" She chewed thoughtfully for a moment before replying, "What is death?"

Zephyrine and Riven exchanged puzzled glances.

"How do you not know what death is?"

Riven muttered, more to himself than anyone else. His expression contorted to dissatisfaction.

Zephyrine shook her head. "Maybe it's just... a gap in her memories"

But to think she doesn't know basic things.

Before they could continue, the door to the room swung open, and Isolde entered, her laugh filling the space.

"Good morning, everyone!" she called, only to freeze when she saw the scene before her—Mysterika eating with no restraint, her hands covered in food, her legs kicked up on the table.

"Oh my, oh my," Isolde puffed, exasperated but amused. "Mysterika, there will be plenty of food at the feast. You don’t need to devour everything here.”

Mysterika, unfazed by the sudden attention, continued eating. She didn’t even look up, clearly in her own world.

"Okay, you’re on timeout," Isolde said, her voice firm but kind as she walked over and gently lifted Mysterika away from her mess. "Sigh. Verdi, get some clean clothes for her and ask Elwes to wash her." She turned toward Riven and Zephyrine, her expression more serious now. "We have a lot to prepare for the gift-giving ceremony."

Riven raised an eyebrow, unamused by the sudden rush of orders. “What do we need to do?”

Isolde paused for a moment, then turned back to him with a soft smile. "You just need to show yourselves." She started to walk away but paused at the door. "And you should think about what gifts you want to receive. We’ll make sure you're properly presented."

Riven stared after her, still processing everything. "Gifts, huh?" He ran a hand through his hair, frustration creeping in. "What kind of gifts are we even talking about?"

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Before Isolde could answer, Verdi, who had been standing off to the side, muttered under his breath, "Why am I being treated like an errand boy? Ask the guy with wings, damn it."

----------------------------------------

Elsewhere, in the kingdom of Nymphaceacea

A royal messenger approached the queen and king with a scroll in hand. He knelt low, bowing deeply.

"Your Excellencies," he began, his voice steady yet filled with anticipation, "Kadohara Mirielle announces that the gift-giving ceremony will occur in three days. She expects all rulers of her realm to attend this momentous celebration." He unrolled the scroll and began reading aloud, his voice clear.

"These days will be marked in history and declared a holiday henceforth," the messenger declared, his words resonating in the room.

The subjects of Nymphaceacea gasped, their whispers filling the air. One voice broke through the murmur: "For Mirielle to declare this a holiday could mean prosperity for us all."

Another voice joined in, “Our queen and king, we will handle matters here. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

The messenger continued, unfazed by the excitement in the room. "The thirteen monarchs will witness the three new citizens, and Mirielle wishes for the nobles to accept these individuals into their lands." He paused briefly, making sure the weight of his words hit home. “This will be a pivotal moment in history.”

"All the vessels from Ai, Ki, and Dom will be present," he added, almost reverently. "May Kadohara bless your souls."

The air in the room was thick with excitement as the royal couple absorbed the news. The messenger bowed low again, then stood back, waiting for their response.

Outside, word of the announcement quickly spread, igniting conversation among the citizens.

“There are three of them?” a shopkeeper exclaimed, spitting out his tea in disbelief.

Two women in the market gossiped as they walked by. "It seems those people at that facility were actually doing something after all these years," one remarked with a raised eyebrow. "I didn’t think they had it in them."

In a corner of the tavern, a group of adults discussed the news with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "I heard funding for that project is going to skyrocket," one said bitterly, clenching his fists. "I should’ve applied there!"

A man at the bar leaned over to his companions, a grin forming. "Did Dr. Stellan Ravenwood join the project?" he asked. "The same Ravenwood who topped the prestigious institution since he was seventeen?"

Nearby, a pair of teen girls whispered excitedly. “I can’t believe Lysandra Isolde is involved,” one of them giggled. "She’s stunning, and her research papers? Pure genius. They even won the golden standard!"

"Even that scoundrel, Verdi, got in on this," two men sneered. "That bastard was the head of Choska’s West Drug Laboratory for a couple of years. Imagine that.”

A noble lady, sitting gracefully with her tea, murmured to herself, “The proud Dr. Ophidia Elwes hasn’t lost her touch. Her projects, even one hundred years ago, still shape our lives today.” She took another sip, as if savoring the weight of the words.

As the news of the gift-giving ceremony spread, excitement was palpable.

----

Two figures stepped out into the open, drawn by the allure of their new world.

The twilight sky, softening into deep purples and blues, cast a serene glow across the landscape. They knelt on the cool earth, carefully stacking smooth stones into a modest tower. The stones grew higher, one atop the other, their sharp edges softening as the day gave way to night. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the quiet scrape of stone against stone.

As the tower reached its peak, Dr. Ravenwood’s voice cut through the stillness. “Pomona, Sage,” he called gently. “It’s getting late; you should come inside.”

The two figures paused, their hands still on the stones. With synchronized movements, they bowed their heads in prayer, their voices soft and reverent.

“May Kadohara bless your soul,” they murmured, their hands pressed together in a gesture of respect, framed by the ninety-seven stone towers they had constructed. Ravenwood’s heart tightened as he watched the scene.

He understood then—their small, humble creation was a memorial, not just a simple prayer.

'You may not remember them all,' he thought, 'but you’ve built a grave for each one.'

Riven rose, brushing the dirt from his knees, his expression solemn. “With this second chance,” he said, his voice was steady, “we’ve chosen to leave the past behind.”

Zephyrine stood beside him, her gaze shining with quiet pride. “I go by Zephyrine now, Doctor,” she said, her voice light and airy, almost as if testing the name on her tongue.

“And I’m Riven,” he added, the weight of the words settling between them, a commitment to the future.

----------------------------------------

The sound of warm water splashing filled the room as a bucket of water was poured over a woman with red hair.

Elwes worked diligently, gently lathering the woman’s long, silky locks while Isolde attended to Mysterika’s strange, shimmering hands.

“Mysterika belongs to the Demulanyo tribe,” Isolde remarked, her eyes tracing the translucent, violet-glowing skin of Mysterika’s arms.

The hands shimmered with the iridescence of stars on a clear night.

Elwes, ever the observer, continued, her fingers working through the thick strands of hair. “The Demonyos origin connects to the Demulanyo,” she said proudly. “It’s a beautiful lineage.”

Isolde shook her head, clearly amused. “Mysterika, stop floating!” she exclaimed as the young woman began to drift away from her seat, her feet no longer touching the ground.

Elwes chuckled softly. “That clan is truly fascinating,” she murmured. “But you need to behave, Mysterika. You’ll be meeting Kadohara soon.”

Mysterika’s only response was to hum lightly, lost in the serenity of her own world.

----------------------------------------

The soft, inviting warmth of their new beds awaited them like a long-awaited embrace.

“Yipii!” Zephyrine exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she leaped onto the soft mattress, a smile spreading across her face. “Finally! Something other than this cold floor!” She stretched luxuriously, like a contented cat basking in the sun.

Riven, more reserved, sighed deeply and lay down beside her, his body sinking into the plush mattress. He stared up at the ceiling, the weight of the past heavy on his mind.

“You should know,” he said after a long silence, his voice quieter, “I died in a hospital bed. I was bound to that thing my whole life.”

Zephyrine’s gaze softened with understanding. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

Riven shook his head, a faint smile crossing his lips despite the sorrow. “I can’t deny, I miss the comfort of a bed,” he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice surprising even him.

They lay there in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared experience settling between them like a thick fog.

“I hope Blake finds peace,” Riven said at last, his voice tinged with sadness. “And Mimi… those chambers were torture. I just hope it wasn’t too painful.”

Zephyrine nodded solemnly. “And Lucy,” she added, her gaze drifting to the quiet form of Mysterika, who sat beside them, her eyes unfocused, lost in her own world.

She reached out, her fingers gently touching Mysterika’s shoulder. “The person who was always with you—her name is Lucy.”

Mysterika didn’t respond, her hands floating toward the window, fingers tracing the stars that dotted the night sky.

“I thought you should know,” Zephyrine continued softly. “She—”

But Riven cut her off, his voice low and harsh. “There’s no point in talking to her. Nothing seems to faze her.”

Mysterika remained still, her gaze fixed on the stars, as though their light had become her only anchor in the world. The room felt cold despite the warmth of the beds.

Riven’s voice cracked as he spoke again, the raw pain in his words almost too much to bear. “We’re all dead. We started with a hundred and are down to three.” He looked at Mysterika, his eyes filled with an unspoken question. “Why did you survive?”

Zephyrine was startled by the harshness of his words, her face flushing with surprise. “Don’t talk like that!” she exclaimed, her voice rising.

“Does she look like she has the will to live?” Riven shot back, the anger in his voice raw. “Mimi and Blake should have survived!”