Chapter 13: No justification
Clarity seeped into her chaotic mind as the last of her tears dried, leaving faint, salty trails on her cheeks. Her throat ached with dryness, and her face felt uncomfortably sticky, a mix of sweat and tears clinging to her skin. Estelle inhaled a shaky breath, sniffled back the threat of escaping snot, and wiped her face with a gloved hand that trembled from exhaustion, the numbness barely abating.
Between movements, her gaze dipped downward, catching the ground where the map of Astris still shimmered faintly above the tiled floor—a mirage-like projection that seemed perpetually just out of reach.
Her eyes traced the map’s northern expanse, though her focus faltered midway. Instead, her attention snagged on the imposing structure of the Central Integrated Interface. Towering at the foot of the northern lands, its massive silhouette loomed, abruptly severing the mapped terrain beyond—lands her eyes yet to explore, details she had yet to to be seen.
“Right…” she murmured, the word slipping out hollow, a fragment of thought shaping her fractured consciousness. But as her gaze lingered, something tugged at the edges of her memory, stirring faint recognition. ‘Right—didn’t I have something to do with that device? Account revalidation or something?’
The thought felt misplaced, trivial even—hardly deserving immediate attention. Or so she told herself, until her eyes landed on the blinking red dot on the translucent monitor. It had been flashing since she first noticed it, a silent beckoning that prickled at her curiosity.
It felt urgent. Something she ought to investigate.
Thinking twice, and thinking once more before nodding to herself. ‘Later,’ she decided, the thought firm but fleeting. ‘Revalidate the account first. The rest can wait.’
Her gaze dropped again to the holographic map beneath her as she moved onward. The map seemed alive with whispers of meaning, each glance unraveling a flood of thoughts. The lands it depicted told stories of what was and what could be, where pivotal moments in history had scarred the terrain, each marking its undeniable history. Many futures yet to unfold, clouding her mind with their fragments, and countless stories lay incomplete, always waiting to be written.
A frustrated sigh escaped her tightly pressed lips, followed by a faint grumble. She shouldn’t have allowed herself even a peek—not if she intended to ignore such intricacies in the first place. Her eyes watered slightly, a familiar ache of insatiable hunger gnawing at her. The map’s layers of meaning demanded more than fleeting glances, its depths teasing slivers of revelation that only prolonged observation could uncover.
Though she had seen this image countless times before—etched into memory with nearly every progression and variations—no matter how deeply she delved, her craving for detail remained unfulfilled. Curiosity was a relentless force, dragging her focus to every nuance the map revealed, as if her pen and thoughts were perpetually drawn to its ever-expanding significance.
Yet, beyond her habitual need to uncover meaning, a distinct sense of understanding emerged—an awareness of the present timeline. Her drifting eyes caught on a particular feature that hinted at the current date: to the west, amid a cluster of floating islands, her attention fixed on a lower base. Jagged ridges of barren stone were visible, though partially obscured by another island.
The view was incomplete, but the location was unmistakable. Its relevance, its importance, all resonated in her mind—a detail anchoring her firmly in the world’s current chapter.
Without realizing it, Estelle found herself drifting westward, drawn by an undebniable urge to steal a glimpse. The pull was persistent, relentless, and far from unfamiliar. Self-control was a concept that rarely brushed her thoughts, and even if it did, it was easily dismissed. A spring found its way into her step, and a wry grin stretched lazily across her lips.
Each footfall echoed strangely, the sounds foreign and unrecognizable to her ears. This peculiar space felt detached from the world beyond, enigmatic and otherworldly. She tried to ignore the oddities, but the echoes seemingly stretched, weaving curious rhythms that teased her senses. Without thinking, her voice joined the symphony—a lilting trill spilling from her lips. “Ta-ta~lala~data~Mhmmmmn, nnn~!”
As the hymns intertwined with the hollow echo of her steps, Estelle’s hum faltered. Her gaze locked onto the island that had ensnared her attention—its towering, mountainous peaks stretched long like a dragon’s spine. Snow blanketed the ridges in a thick, pristine shroud, with glimpses of gray-black stone jutting through steep cliffs. A faint memory stirred at the edge of her consciousness, deepening the grin curving her lips.
She slowed her pace, her eyes tracing the island’s edges. Massive dams held back precious water, their structures supposed to be imposing yet they were fragmented in the hologram display. The projection, at knee level, rendered distant details indistinct. Beyond the faint outline of the dams, airship docks extended along the island’s border, mere specks dissolving into indistinct pixels even when she squinted.
The island’s population came to mind—it was sparse and scattered settlements across the island, and much of the nature was profoundly vibrant in green and untamed. The land’s natural beauty reigned unchallenged. At its heart, the same mountains she had seen before, icy peaks that rose defiantly, earning the island its name: The Devil’s rest—or, as the locals called it, the Twin Breast.
Estelle could never recall which name came first, nor did it truly matter. Ghost stories, pirates’ tales, and relics of the soon-to-be-forgotten Haliaetus Kingdom drifted through her thoughts—fragments of history, past and yet to come. Her gaze shifted again, drawn to another island emerging behind the first. She halted, steadying herself to take in the sight.
Lower in elevation but far larger, the second island stretched across the horizon, its vast plains and towering mountains dwarfing Twin Breast Isle entirely. Estelle’s heart quickened, her breath catching as its supposed enormity settled into her vision. If the great nations of the world—spanning historical timelines—were to be ranked, there was no question: the Kingdom of Haliaetus would soar among her top five favorites.
This island was the heart of Haliaetus, a civilization etched into the very bones of the world. Its legacy loomed immense, destined to shape the course of history through its rise and inevitable fall. A pivotal chapter in the annals of time, its forgotten songs, relics, fables, and traditions would echo through the ages. Proverbs born of its greatness would repeat themselves, reverberating across periods. The same great nation—the Haliaetus Kingdom—stood as both a relic of the past and a force intertwined with the future.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
A sharp exhale escaped her lips, cold and numbing as it spread across her senses. The sensation grounded her, though its grip felt strangely elusive. Her thoughts blanked momentarily, but an unbidden desire surged within her, forming into words that spilled from her mouth in a hushed whisper.
“Damn… damn… Damnit. I want to see it… Their golden age—and their fall.”
She clicked her tongue, her gaze snapping back to the Central Integrated Interface at the atrium’s center. A blinking red dot persisted on one of its translucent screens, an insistent glow that seemed to beckon her. It felt as though everything she sought lay there, waiting for her to answer its call.
Estelle’s lips tightened, and before she knew it, her feet moved on their own, drawn forward despite the pull of the map’s lingering image. A thought surfaced, stark among the chaos of her mind and unbidden. ‘The Haliaetus Kingdom still exists… That means we’ve passed the Ecliptic War of the Gods. That puts us somewhere between the 300s and 1200s, when the remnants of the Architects’ artifacts were still abundant. The highlight of this period… the Haliaetus Kingdom—the era of kings—oh, fuck…’
A flashed of memory surged, flickering vividly before her eyes and warping her sense of her surroundings. She gasped, her shallow breath came to a halt.
‘Wait—didn’t I set the campaign’s timeline in the 800s? Does that mean… it really is the 800s? Damn. Oh, fuck. If that’s true, I don’t have much time to explore everything at my leisure. Oh—right, wasn’t I working on something during the 800s too? What was it again?’
Her thoughts spiraled, chasing clarity that fled away with every nearing reach. As irrelevant as these musings seemed to her immediate situation, she couldn’t shake them. They felt too important to the world, like pieces of a puzzle she was desperate to assemble. Frustration bubbled to the surface, and she clicked her tongue in annoyance.
Without realizing it, her hand moved to her chin in a pensive gesture, her feet pressing forward as if driven by a subconscious impatience. Her steps began to falter, growing sluggish. Her toes dragged to a halt, her body tilting slightly under the weight of her racing thoughts.
Her gaze drifted upward, catching on the Nous Crux Sphere—a brilliant blue orb shining amidst the void of space—before returning to the floor beneath her. The image of the world presented above the tiles stretched out before her, unfurling like a gift. Its brilliance momentarily silenced the greedy, clattering noise of her thoughts, grounding her thoughts into immediate relevance.
“Well,” Estelle whispered, her breath forming misty white plumes in the cool air, the warmth brushing against her cheek. “Fuck it, I suppose. I’ll remember it eventually… hopefully.
The sights laid out on the map stirred her thoughts, which had nearly settled into clarity, only to sprout anew. A wide smile spread across her face, erasing the traces of confusion. ‘Cameras, yes. Those are important too. I need to prepare cameras. Double—no, quadruple—the copies. I want to record everything in the highest quality, stored on media that won’t degrade. Every moment, every person entangled in this world’s plight. It sounds impossible, but I’ll definitely find a way.’
Her excitement surged. She bit her lower lip, her fist trembling with barely restrained energy. “Now that I’m an Architect—the civilized race that supposedly reached the pinnacle of technological advancement—there must be a device or blueprints somewhere. Something that can capture images or video. And if not…” Her voice trailed off, thoughts racing. ‘I’ll just have to figure it out myself.’
Her gaze drifted toward the atrium’s center, as though expecting the vast space to answer her musings, as if it might align her desires back to her. “I hope I can make a camera… I hope I can record these events,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the void.
For a moment, Estelle felt an overwhelming connection to the world she had created. It was intimate and intoxicating—like standing at the intersection of godhood and artistry. She was a creator, gazing at her flawed masterpiece—a world stitched together by contradictions and brittle connection systems, fragile enough to shatter from the faintest touch of clarification.
No grand justification, no “rule of cool,” no “act of realism” could truly defend many of her creative decisions. They had always been imperfect, and those imperfections gnawed at her sanity, amplifying the whispers in her mind—the ones that had nearly driven her to delete the world entirely.
The memory brought a pang of guilt. Estelle shuddered, her lips tightening. She knew she hadn’t been thinking clearly then. Twelve years of effort—a world painstakingly built with her energy, time, and money—almost erased with a single click. Gone forever, irretrievable.
Her body tensed, muscles coiling with the phantom weight of that near-fatal decision. Eyes shut tight, she murmured, “A world on life support, riddled with imperfections…” Her lips quirked into a forced grin, a hollow attempt to dismiss the weight of her thoughts. A breathless giggle escaped her, tinged with bitterness. ‘What a ridiculous thought, that phrase. Isn't it strange to think this way?’
She paused, drawing in a slow, steadying breath. Then another. Two. Three. Tranquility seeped into the chaos of her mind, bit by bit. By the tenth measured breath, her heartbeat had steadied, and Estelle opened her eyes—opening them to the World she had created. Her everything.
“Isn’t this fine as it is?” she murmured, her voice tender but trembling. “It’s not like this world is meant for anyone else. It’s not public. It’s mine. So… isn’t it fine, Estelle?”
Familiar words. Familiar excuses. She had told herself this so many times before, each repetition digging deeper into the hollowness within her heart. Her mind reeled against the thoughts, disgusted at the idea of settling. Perhaps it was pride—the relentless voice of an artist demanding perfection—that made her recoil.
And yet, another part of her, fractured and weary, whispered its acceptance.
She tilted her head back to take it all in. ‘Of course,’ she mused. ‘I designed it for the tall and bulky frames of the new Architects. Four to six meters tall, if I remember right.’
The scale made sense, at least to the new variants, but it didn’t make her current predicament any easier.
Her eyes roamed over the station, assessing her options. The integrated Interface was massive, its height easily exceeding her reach, and its contents were inaccessible from her position. She traced the contours of the device upward, following the line of barely visible transparent monitors encircling it. The pusling red dot caught her attention, it unmistakably displayed on the translucent monitors.
‘Well. There’s no helping it,’ she thought with a resigned sigh and placed the glass down next to her feet. ‘I guess I’ll have to climb’
Steeling herself, Estelle bent her knees and sprang upward, her hands reaching for the metallic ledge. She caught it, the cold metal biting into her gloves as she tightened her grip. With effort, she hauled herself upward, her arms trembling slightly as she stabilized her position on the ledge.
She hesitated there, peering cautiously over the edge before fully committing to climb further. Her gaze settled on the red-blinking monitor casting a faint glow against her skin. Turning her head toward it, she read the text that scrolled across its surface:
[Primary power bank maintenance duration: 3 hours and 30 minutes.]