“Riven, you—” Zephyrine shot him a withering look, but her voice faltered.
“Even Lucy,-” Riven continued, his eyes misting, “mistook Mysterika for her sister. Yet here we are, still standing, still breathing, and they’re gone.”
Mysterika did not respond, her face an unreadable mask. Her fingers stretched toward the window, the night sky and an endless canvas were a perfect match for her hands . She seemed untouched by the emotions swirling around her, her gaze fixed on the stars, distant and unmoving.
The room was heavy with unspoken words, and Zephyrine felt a quiet conflict tear at her. She could feel Riven’s pain, but she couldn’t help but wonder if Mysterika’s silence was a shield, a way of surviving in a world that no longer made sense.
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Rachyl, busy with the preparations for the upcoming gift-giving ceremony, paced through the halls of Agapaea, where Mirielle resided. The grand palace gleamed with opulence, the Akrix decor which is an Arkonix-Kaldrix Alloy, the unique mineral found with it's golden appearance catching the light and reflecting it in every corner. Servants scurried to and fro, arranging seats and setting up tables for the incoming monarchs.
“Vessel Rachyl,” one of the servants interrupted, bowing low. “The feast ingredients are seventy percent complete. We’re still waiting for Choska’s honey and Lactarius’ prized mushrooms.”
Rachyl acknowledged the report with a nod, her expression unreadable. “Thank you. Urge them to hurry. Mirielle Kadohara expects perfection.” She turned to another subject. “Are the medals of recognition prepared?”
“Yes, Vessel Rachyl,” came the reply. “The funding will triple as Mirielle’s reward for those outstanding scientists.”
Rachyl’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile, but her eyes remained distant. “Good. Those four will be recognized as Enlierau’s heroes.” She flicked through the floating documents, checking for discrepancies.
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Dr. Ravenwood sat hunched over his desk, his hands trembling slightly from hours of paperwork. He was exhausted, but the thought of the coming celebration kept him from resting. There were only two days left, and so much to finalize.
The door creaked open, and Isolde entered, holding two steaming cups of coffee. “Stellan,” she said, her voice warm, “you need this. We both know you won’t stop until the grand celebration.”
She placed the cups beside him, and he looked up from his papers, meeting her gaze through his monocle. His expression softened, the tiredness in his eyes replaced by something gentler.
He stood, crossed the room, and locked the door behind him before sitting on the bench. “Come sit with me,” he said, motioning to the seat beside him.
Isolde clicked her tongue in annoyance but couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “I still have work to do. I’m the only one who can handle the labor; Verdi’s exhausted,” she said, turning to unlock the door again.
But before she could leave, Stellan’s arms encircled her from behind, pulling her back toward him. “Lysandra,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth. “I know you joined the facility because of me.”
She didn’t turn around, her pride holding her still. “So?” she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness. “I wanted to see what the once-proud Dr. Stellan Ravenwood is like in this desolate facility. My curiosity got the better of me.” She raised her chin, though a flush of warmth spread across her cheeks.
Stellan held her close, his touch gentle but firm. “You—”
“You should rest, Lysandra.” He ran his fingers down her legs, his touch soft but insistent. “You’ve been working nonstop for four days. What would the nobles say if they saw you looking worn from labor?”
Isolde’s six eyes narrowed in embarrassment, and she bit her lip. “Things will only get busier,” she said, her voice quiet. “The beta dolls are key for successful soul syncing.”
Stellan reached up to gently cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “That’s enough work talk, Lysandra,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “We’ll hire more help after this. For now, let’s rest.”
Isolde’s face turned crimson from the unexpected kiss. She covered her mouth, her hand pressing against her cheek. “If our colleagues catch us, what do you think they’ll say? You could handle it, but I can’t.”
Stellan’s laughter filled the room, warm and comforting, and it melted the tension in her chest. “Well,” he said with a teasing grin, “I guess I’ll embarrass you publicly.” And with that, he leaned in for another kiss.
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Another day slipped away within the quiet confines of the room, leaving only two women behind. The third occupant—the sole man—had been called away by Dr. Verdi to adjust his attire, leaving the space steeped in silence.
Zephyrine’s gaze drifted toward Mysterika, her thoughts churning. She wanted to speak, to bridge the gulf of quiet that stretched between them, but the words wouldn’t come. The weight of unspoken emotions pressed heavily on her chest.
Then, unexpectedly, Mysterika began to hum. Her voice was soft at first, a fragile thread weaving through the stillness. The melody was haunting, almost otherworldly, and it carried an ache that seemed to seep into the walls. There were no words, only a tune that resonated with unspoken grief.
Zephyrine felt a lump rise in her throat, tears stinging her eyes. The sound stirred something deep within her, something raw and unguarded. She blinked, willing herself to understand this sudden, uncharacteristic display.
“To think there would come a time,” Mysterika’s voice broke the hum, carrying words now. The first note lanced through Zephyrine, who stood rooted, unable to look away. Mysterika’s violet hands moved gracefully, her gestures adding weight to the song.
“I'd have to say goodbye, my friend,”
Mysterika sang, her tone achingly clear.
“I never thought that things would ever end,
But I always thought I might have stayed,
Because of the way we swayed.
Please don't feel betrayed..."
Each word fell like a stone into Zephyrine’s heart, rippling outward with meaning she couldn’t quite grasp. She watched Mysterika’s movements, her serene demeanor layered with an undertone of quiet anguish.
“I used to always pray,
Remembering the times when we danced and played,
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
But maybe that's how things were portrayed.
I'll offer anything to keep this going, but I'm still afraid."
The words carried both sorrow and resignation, the melody tangling with Zephyrine’s emotions in ways she couldn’t articulate. Tears slipped down her face unbidden, and she clenched her fists, overwhelmed by the unexpected vulnerability before her.
"Don't ever think that I never cared for you,
So please stop always feeling so blue."
Zephyrine’s breath caught, her mind swirling with questions. What was Mysterika saying—or not saying? Was this a confession, an apology, or something more profound? She couldn’t tell. The song seemed to obscure as much as it revealed.
As Mysterika’s voice softened into a hum once more, she turned away, her steps light and deliberate. Her body swayed faintly, as if the song still carried her. Zephyrine remained frozen, her tears now streaming freely, the room heavy with an unspoken sorrow that neither could fully name.
Beyond the door, Riven lingered, his presence unseen. The mournful melody seeped through the cracks, wrapping around him like a shroud. A pang of guilt twisted in his chest as he listened, the sorrow in Mysterika’s voice a reflection of his own regrets.
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The carriage rumbled steadily along the cobblestone path, its polished frame reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun. Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of curiosity and quiet tension. Dr. Ravenwood and Elwes rode at the front, deep in conversation with the driver, their voices faint but punctuated by occasional laughter. Behind them, the enclosed compartment carried the three survivors—Zephyrine, Riven, and Mysterika—along with two other researchers, Dr. Verde and Isolde.
Zephyrine pressed her face close to the window, her hands cupping the glass as her amber eyes widened in awe. The landscape outside was a masterpiece of vibrancy—a far cry from the muted tones of her previous life. Rolling hills adorned with blossoms in colors she hadn’t even imagined stretched as far as the eye could see. A river, sparkling like liquid silver, cut through the scenery, its banks alive with the hum of thriving communities.
Sage, seated beside her, was equally mesmerized. His normally guarded expression softened as he took in the kaleidoscope of life outside. “It’s…” he murmured, searching for the words. “It’s like stepping into another world.”
"It is another world", Zephyrine nodded, her voice filled with wonder. "It really took a while to sink in."
Across from them, Mysterika sat quietly, her attention divided between the fleeting glimpses of the outside world and the outfit she was wearing. Her violet eyes flickered with faint light as she tugged at the sleeve, her fingers running over the fabric. Despite its beauty—shimmering in a way that complemented her glowing skin—it seemed to irritate her.
“Did you throw away your shoes again?” Dr. Verde’s sharp voice broke the reverie. His green eyes narrowed as he noticed Mysterika’s bare feet pressed against the polished carriage floor. “Every time you toss them, it hurts my bank account. Do you have any idea how much they cost?”
Mysterika looked up, her expression distant as she struggled for words. “They were…” she finally said, her voice quiet, “uncomfortable.”
Dr. Verde sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Uncomfortable? Of course, they were! They’re custom-made for someone who floats half the time!” he said sarcastically.
The three survivors wore clothing reminiscent of their porcelain forms from before, but with an unmistakable individuality. Their outfits shimmered with hues that matched their glowing eyes—Zephyrine’s green robes exuded calmness Sage’s deep golden clothing radiated royalty. and Mysterika’s violet attire glimmered like the night sky. Each piece seemed to glow faintly, a testament to their rebirth.
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As the carriage rounded a final bend, the Tower of Mirielle came into view, its sheer grandeur stealing the breath of everyone inside. The structure loomed like a castle pulled from the pages of myth, its spires piercing the heavens. White stone walls glimmered under the light of a thousand embedded crystals, while banners bearing Mirielle’s sigil flapped gently in the wind. Surrounding the tower, smaller yet no less ornate buildings housed her vessels and followers, the entire complex alive with movement and purpose.
The streets below are teemed with common folk waving vibrant flags. Each flag bore the eye colors of the three survivors—gold, blue, and violet—creating a tapestry of hope and celebration. The people cheered as the carriage approached, their voices rising in a joyous cacophony.
Zephyrine’s heart tightened as she took in the scene. The weight of it all finally sank in—the grandeur, the spectacle, the significance of their arrival. She glanced at Riven, who sat with his hands clasped tightly together, his knuckles pale. His usual calm demeanor faltered, betraying a deep unease.
“Are we… really that important?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the noise outside.
Dr. Verde, seated beside them, scoffed but didn’t meet his gaze. “I hate to admit it,” he said dryly, “but yes, you are.”
Riven’s nerves only seemed to grow as the carriage came to a stop at the base of the tower. The driver hopped down, opening the door with a bow. Outside, the grand entrance loomed, its golden doors engraved with intricate depictions of Mirielle’s miracles.
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Elwes stepped forward, her tone calm but authoritative. “We’ll go ahead to greet Kadohara Mirielle,” she said, her gaze sweeping over the group. “Have you decided on your gifts?”
Zephyrine hesitated, her mind racing. She had spent days trying to think of something worthy but still hadn’t settled on an idea. “I…” she started, her words trailing off as anxiety knotted her stomach. “I was thinking… maybe it would be better as a surprise?”
Riven spoke up instead, his voice steady despite his earlier nervousness. “I’ve decided,” he said simply, a faint smile tugging at his lips , "but-", he looks at Zephriyne, "yeah it's better if it's a surprise."
Elwes raised an eyebrow but nodded, satisfied. “Very well. Just remember,” she said as the group began to ascend the grand staircase, “this isn’t just about you. This is about honoring the deity who gave you a second chance.”
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The grand hall of the Tower of Mirielle gleamed with the splendor of divine order, every detail of its design representing the immense power and influence of the Kadohara. This monumental space, with its six sides, stood as a testament to the might of the Kadohara quartet, each side dedicated to one of the eternal beings and the nations they governed. The air was alive with the hum of reverence as powerful monarchs, their vessels, and the assembled believers filled the hall, a sea of rich fabrics and shimmering symbols.
Mirielle’s side of the hall was the grandest, her elevated position at the far end exuding an otherworldly glow, as if the light of the heavens themselves radiated from her. Her vessel, Rachyl, stood beside her, her gaze calm and steady as she prepared to speak for her goddess. The space around them was vast, a symbolic separation to reflect Mirielle’s godliness, the distance between her and the assembly underscoring her celestial nature.
The hall was divided into sections, each representing one of the four Kadohara. To the left, the Ai side—where Time reigned—was adorned in deep, shifting hues of golden amber and brilliant silver, representing the eternal flow of time, the shifting sands of past, present, and future. The monarchs of Ai were dressed in robes of radiant, shifting gold and burnished bronze, their thrones shimmering with the hues of the sun itself, radiating a warmth that symbolized the ever-present, ever-moving passage of time. Their vessels stood above them, clothed in garments of iridescent whites and shimmering gold, the colors of the clockwork of the universe, ever turning, ever shifting. The air around them seemed to pulse with a rhythm, a quiet ticking that whispered of the passing hours and the weight of the past, present, and future.
Opposite them, on the Ki' side, the Kadohara of Oblivion, the atmosphere was shrouded in deep, velvety shades of midnight blue and the darkest black, reflecting the vast emptiness of the universe. The sky above this side seemed to stretch endlessly into an inky void, dotted with faint stars that twinkled like the remnants of forgotten dreams. The monarchs of Ki' wore robes of sapphire and deep cobalt, their attire adorned with subtle patterns resembling the night sky, swirling in abstract forms like the void itself. Their vessels stood elevated above them, draped in garments of black velvet and deep, starry blue, their forms as shadowy and elusive as the darkness that governed them. A deep silence hung over this side of the hall, a quiet reminder of the infinite emptiness, the nothingness that defined Ki.
The Dom side, the domain of Justice, was a place of clarity and revelation. The hall was suffused with brilliant light, the colors of crystal-clear whites, glistening silvers,and sharp, radiant blues. The monarchs of Dom sat upon thrones of clear glass, their robes shimmering with intricate patterns of icy blue and silver, symbolizing the truth that cuts through the shadows, revealing all that is hidden. Their vessels, seated above them, wore flowing garments of white and frosty silver, the colors of clarity and purity. Light seemed to bounce off every surface in this side of the hall, illuminating the faces of those who dared to confront the truth. The very air vibrated with a sense of unyielding clarity, as if every word spoken here would be absolute, undeniable.
Mirielle’s side, the Kadohara of Emotions the focal point of the ceremony, held five monarchs. Each wore robes that blended the essence of all the Kadohara —opalescent whites, and cyan blood, symbolizing the divine, all-encompassing nature of Mirielle. Her vessel, Rachyl, stood in a seat above the monarchs, her robe a radiant reflection of her goddess’s will.
As the ceremony began, Rachyl spoke, her voice steady and clear, carrying the weight of Mirielle’s divine command. “Welcome, vessels, monarchs and honored guests,” she said while honoring the ranking of those who arrived. “Today, we honor the gift of new beginnings, of second chances, and of those who have been chosen to carry the weight of the Kadohara’s will.”
The three survivors, Zephyrine, Riven, and Mysterika, stood before the assembly, their hearts heavy with the realization of their new roles. The monarchs and vessels turned their attention to them, the weight of the moment palpable in the air.
The Gift-Giving Ceremony at the Tower of Mirielle was nothing short of awe-inspiring, a grand occasion steeped in divine significance. As the light filtered through the towering windows, casting warm, golden beams over the vast hall, the atmosphere hummed with reverence and anticipation. The immense space—its six sides a reflection of the Kadohara quartet’s eternal rule—was filled with an air of both celebration and solemnity. Monarchs, vessels, and dignitaries from across the land gathered, each side of the hall dedicated to one of the eternal beings.
Ravenwood, Elwes, Verde, and Isolde stood before the assembly, each of them being presented with a medal of national heroism, symbolizing their contributions to the advancement of the Kadohara's goals. The crowd applauded as the monarchs bestowed their medals, each one gleaming with the light of recognition. Alongside these prestigious medals came substantial monetary rewards, ensuring that their work would continue without the burden of financial strain.
The facility where their research took place would be renovated to accommodate the growing demand for innovation, and the four were granted the freedom to hire more workers, expanding their influence and ability to achieve greater breakthroughs.
Elwes was granted more authority, especially in recruiting new and talented individuals to help her expand the research efforts. The monarchs recognized her sharp instincts in identifying exceptional minds, and now she would have the means to broaden her influence.
Ravenwood’s gifts, too, were tailored to his desires. The practical items he received would empower him to continue his second in command role in the research facility, ensuring that he could continue to guide the work with clarity and efficiency.
Isolde was given an array of gifts—specialized tools and artifacts to assist in her work, with an emphasis on improving the conditions of the facility.
Verde, always the pragmatist, was granted a plot of land, a long-desired gift. The monarchs knew the weight of his humble origins, and his new land would provide stability and prosperity for his family, something that had long eluded him.