In a distant realm, where dreams danced with reality, a world existed where magic was not a mere figment of imagination, but a living, breathing force. There existed a realm that mirrored our Earth in many ways. Yet, a subtle resonance set it apart with the presence of mana, a celestial energy that imbued the world with a touch of magic.

The presence of mana had shaped a civilization that was distinct yet strikingly familiar. Here, the ordinary and the extraordinary danced in harmony. However, for a certain group, the lost advancements became their weapons.

On the deck of a modern cruise, an invention that shouldn’t have existed yet in this world, hovering over the ocean, I gazed towards the visible prison land which gathered a 30-meter wall circling it. For starters, it was known as the Obsidian Asylum where convicts with dual-awakened power gathered, repenting of their sins.

A tap of wood caught my attention, putting my gaze back on the chessboard on the table. A mere puppet in a maid outfit made her move using her queenpiece. She’s almost four inches taller than I am, and her braided orange hair harmonized with my crimson hair weaving down my shoulder. What’s enticing in her appearance is that her joints took the shape of a sphere alongside her synthetic skin.

“Your move, Nebula-sama.” She grasped the enticing enjoyment of strategizing forces through the game of chess. Three years earlier, when video games hadn’t been invented yet, Chess satisfied her amusement. What’s motivating her to play this traditional game with me? She never won against me… not even once.

As I moved a piece, I smirked at the winner’s face and asked, "So Rox, do you believe in the existence of multiverses?"

Rox made a move and replied, "I'm lagging far beyond human comprehension. With the available books this world has, I’m having a hard time defining the future."

I made my chess move and said, gazing back at the prison, "Do you still remember the story of Schrodinger's cat? The real hypothetical experiment was inhumane as I used to be. Suppose a cat was put in a box with a radioactive material. When the material decays, it will trigger a poison that will kill the cat. Without opening the box, do you think that the cat will live or die?"

"Knowing you, you already have an answer. But honestly, if you asked that to everyone else, the same answer would be uncertainty."

"Suppose a seed that grows into countless roots and branches, and is destined to create another seed. These branches continue to exist as long as the causal of things uproots to one entanglement. In simple terms, the universe is a never-ending tree. It’s possible that a single branch would bear a different type of fruit."

"Do you mean there's a superposition that the cat both lives and dies?"

I turned back at the chessboard and murmured, "The world of probabilities is brutal, and there's a nearly zero chance that we exist and are playing chess right now. We may not witness the multiverse as is, but using measurements, we can predict the future far differently from what the Oracles of Finality do."

I even mentioned the cameos of the Finality, a belief in which a sole future is predetermined, completely the counterpart of our discussion about universes. As the sole person who witnessed the propagator of Entropy, I’m declared a demigod in this world, an Apostle.

"Being you as the only apostle of Entropy, they're only seeing a single branch. Is that correct?"

"Hatred on that word used wrongly. Even I would say it would be boring if you always win. But what's fun about it..." I giggled easily and moved a piece, leading Rox to a checkmate. "... is how you win it."

"You'll get a Crossborn award for upsetting people. So, based on this cat box, do you know if the real Quimora will make it alive tomorrow?"

I stood up, took my cup of ice cream, and rested on the railings of the cruise. It’s already been five years since I separated my body from the real Quimora. After all the things that she suffered, now should be the time to clear our name and end her misery.

"In this superposition, one of her souls lives. The other dies. The Project Schrodinger initiated five years ago was a flop. This is its continuation, the sole proof that two destinies exist in one. Quimora was the end of the road, and I, Nebula, was the new beginning. Death wasn't her destiny… Instead, it was her role.

“This is the real Project Schrodinger that is five years in the making.”

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On an island far away from the continents, a prison existed for high-profile captives and criminals with powerful magic, mostly those who awakened two abilities in their lifespan. A normal person would have one ability, some have none, and those that had dual abilities, even in doom and gloom, were called prodigies.

The sea and an anti-magic barrier surround it. Its walls stood 30 meters high and were made of huge heavy bricks. Men and women have different sectors. A sector had cells holding a maximum of ten captives. Since they're high-profile criminals, they were forced to fit inside the narrow cell.

Inside a prison building for female captives, a guard walked while slouching. He stopped at a certain cell and covered his yawning. No one can tell if he's a zombie or is just sleepwalking.

"Yawn... Excuse me," he asked with a lifeless voice. "Is Quimora here?"

A muscular woman on the floor sat up, scratched her eyes, and gazed at the guard like her good morning suddenly became bad. She stood nearly six feet tall and had deep tan skin. Her piercing-blue eyes are often narrowed in a glare that conveys his anger and frustration.

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The prisoner growled, "What the hell do you want? We're not sniffing chemicals here."

After the awkward silence took over, instead of replying, the guard yawned.

The woman's eyes furrowed and clacked. "Tsk!" She tapped the waist of the girl sleeping in bed. "Quimora, you have a suitor."

The high and narrow window emitted the morning sunlight onto the shallow bed, where a girl with silver hair sat up. Her eyes were glittered blood-red and her cheeks were puffed like a baby. Her innocent face implied her kind nature and short stature.

If not for the dirt on her face and the smell of a year-long no-bath, she would be the prettiest girl charming the universe. But she was sent to that prison as a convict for undisclosed reasons. As other convicts say, she shouldn't be here. She wasn't supposed to be here.

Quimora looked beyond the bars and tilted her head, blinded by confusion until the guard said, "No more questions… You're dismissed tomorrow. Heck, I can sleep now. I love this job."

As the guard left with a yawn, all of the prisoner’s eyes bulged open. The muscular woman slapped the seven other inmates who were sleeping. Anger painted on their faces, but the muscular girl grinned and chuckled. When everyone sat up, she announced.

"Great news, pals! Now I, Hera of the 75th, will announce a graduation for our fellow inmate. Our concerns were swept away by the flood. Some of you wonder why an innocent girl faces this place. Fret not! Starting today and onward..." Hera approached and hugged Quimora, rubbing her back, "You'll be free."

With the inmates' faces filled with gradual joy and tears, a round of applause and shouts made the cell lively. The convicts couldn't paint the happiness on their faces; some nearly cried.

"Well deserved, girl! You know you don't belong here. We're very sorry that you need to go through all of this."

"Reach your dreams, girl! Do what you want to do. By the way, can you enter a magic university for me? That was once my dream, but don't worry. I know you'll enjoy it!"

"I'm glad! It's been two years. I knew all along that you never committed crimes. God might've heard our prayers!"

Quimora gazed around them. She shook her head with a slacked wide-open mouth overhauling of uncertainty. Heck doesn’t even know what’s happening. Why was she suddenly dismissed and freed? For a girl imprisoned out of innocence, this should’ve happened sooner.

Like a mother, Hera gently said, "It's alright, girl. It took you a long time. You deserve to be free. Normally, a gorgeous dove shouldn't be caged around a thousand deleterious crows."

"It's too… sudden,” Quimora replied in denial. “I don't know if I will be happy or if I still want to live in this place. You're all I know. Why am I being dismissed suddenly? I'm so… confused.”

"You're scared, aren't you? Of course, you're facing the unknown. But do you remember when you first came here? That's the same. You'll get used to -- Wait..." Hera stopped after hearing a familiar yawn and a cloth being dragged.

Usually, in this overcrowded prison, once a convict leaves a cell, either by being freed or through death, they will be replaced by another convict. Since sinners are born every second in this world, the place suffered sustenance for every living being that the rulers wished them to die.

The same yawning guard stopped before their cell and dragged a young girl with him. She weaved blonde straight hair and pink lips that seemed to have never been damaged in her whole life. Her wide blue eyes made her look like a saint, and between those, she sheltered a crystal-blue gem on her forehead, shining with hope. Her body is full of bruises, and her legs tremble. It seems that several people dealt a massive blow to her body.

"Busy days really break my spine, but this job is lovely... Ahhh... take care of this for us. She will be accompanying you starting this school year. Please be nice to her," the guard said, maybe joking about the prison being a school.

Everyone noticed the unique gem on the girl’s forehead, which portrayed a status undeserving of crime. What is a saint doing here?

The guard pulled her head at his waist level. He hit her face with his knee. As he opened the cell, he kicked her inside. Hera gritted her teeth while burning her brows at the guard. When he closed the door, Hera stopped it from being locked and forced it to open. As she got out, she grabbed the guard's head and pulled it on her bent knee. She kicked him in the stomach, which sent him flying in the corridor.

The crowd cheered for Hera as she beat his arrogance. Hera turned his body facing upward and sat at his belly. She clicked her fists and asked like a roaring lion, "Now tell me that you loved this job. Should you tell us what we need to know, or does that mean you don't love your life as well?"

The guard didn't show any fear or pain on his face. Instead, he slept. As nerves appeared on Hera's forehead, she elbowed the guard's face. The guard cried in pain and pretended to sleep while his nose bled.

Hera came back to the cell and found a wholesome scene where Quimora comforts the crying girl. It would be pointless to escape at this point since there’s no way out. She clenched her fists and whispered, "I want to kill him right now."

"Yeah, I dream of part-time jobs, and the full-time guy gets slackin'," A thin convict shouted. She’s a wiry woman with a mischievous face. Her skin is a light caramel tone, accentuated by an array of tattoos that snake up her arms and down to her wrists, and her hair is a wild mass of dark brown curls, often pulled back into a messy bun. With her appearance, they usually called her ‘Jinx.’

"I'm not happy to hear that from a whistleblower like you, Jinx," Hera said, looking at the girl with drawn eyebrows and approaching her. "How are you feeling?"

Quimora drew her eyebrows and approached the girl. "Are you alright? I’m sorry if you’ve faced something horrible."

The girl smiled and touched Quimora's cheeks. "Guinelle... is fine. I'm so glad... you're here... Nebula-sama..." After her stutter, she lost consciousness. Her hand fell to the ground like a ragdoll who lost its soul.

"Hey! What's wrong!?" Jinx asked. "Don't play dead! We're not gonna eat you, you know?"

"Yer dumb! Check if she’s alive," Hera exclaimed.

Jinx tapped her wrists and said, "I acknowledged her pulse. She should be eating delicacies in the astral world at the moment."

Hera signed out of relief and carried Guinelle to the bed to let her rest. While she stared at her, grasping the peace of her rest, she remembered the first time Quimora entered their cell.

"Remember your first day, Quimora? We still act like delinquents back then, but you two shared the same bed in your first days. You still had the same face since the time you came here,” Hera muttered, clenching her fists. This same scene angered her whilst recalling the same reaction five years ago. "From what my blood tells me, these uncomplicated things don't fit my brawn. It seems my insomnia is waving at me."

"You're saying that now?” Jinx asked. ”I’ve been living in this uncomfortable fly-full narrow rat box for 15 years and never experienced luxury and comfort. This is no place for a Saint."

For fifteen years, Jinx lived in this prison without any touch of hope in escaping. Hera, who’s already 22 years imprisoned, shared the same feeling as her. However for the two young new bloods, Quimora and Guinelle, this is no place to be treated as an orphanage.

Hera stood up, chest out, and growled, “Do you all have any ideas on how a Saint can be imprisoned? I can smell foul play.”