The journey had been grueling. Estelle had pushed herself to the limit, traveling almost non-stop, driven by a sense of urgency she couldn’t fully explain. With her familiar sword at her side, her mind occasionally wandered to the secret behind it. The truth hinted at in the other Estelle’s memories and recent events. But she quickly resolved herself—just as she had decided that she was not the other Estelle, this sword, her trusted companion, would continue to be her ally, no matter what.
The sight of the capital on the horizon finally came into view, its towering structures silhouetted against the setting sun. Even from a distance, Estelle could see the signs of chaos—a city under siege, with plumes of smoke rising into the sky and the distant sound of explosions echoing in the air. The resistance had been hard at work, helping to evacuate civilians, and their efforts were evident in the mass exodus of people fleeing the city.
As she moved closer, weaving through the throngs of terrified civilians, Estelle took in the scene around her. The streets now filled with a chaotic mix of people—families clutching their belongings and resistance fighters helping wherever they could. The buildings, once proud and towering, now bore the scars of battle, with windows shattered, walls crumbling, and debris littering the ground. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke, and the cries of the wounded and the desperate filled the air.
The city, once a symbol of the regime's power, was now a war zone, its heart exposed as the resistance pushed forward. But despite the progress they had made, Estelle couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at her. There was something off, something she couldn't quite place. As she approached the regime's headquarters—an imposing structure that loomed over the city like a dark shadow—her unease only grew.
Everything was in chaos. The resistance forces were locked in a fierce battle with the regime's soldiers, and Estelle found herself drawn into the fray despite her injuries. The pain that had been a constant companion since her last battle was still there, but she pushed it aside, her focus solely on the fight in front of her. Her movements, once fluid and precise, now felt labored, each strike requiring more effort than the last.
But there was no time to dwell on it. With a sharp intake of breath, Estelle charged forward, her sword cutting through the air with deadly precision. Her steps light and her strikes swift, her body weaving through the chaos. The enemy soldiers fell before her, their cries of pain lost in the cacophony of battle.
The world around her seemed to slow, the chaos of battle fading into the background as she focused on the enemies before her. Her sword cut through the air in fluid arcs, each swing leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.
But something felt off. Despite her skill, despite the ease with which she dispatched her foes, there was a nagging sensation at the back of her mind. It was as if time itself had slowed, each second stretching out longer than the last. The faces of the soldiers blurred as they fell, their bodies hitting the ground with a muted thud.
The unease grew with every step she took, but there was no time to dwell on it. The fight raged on, and Estelle knew she couldn’t afford any distractions. She fought on, driven by a determination that burned brighter than the pain in her body.
Amidst the chaos, the crackle of a speaker echoed across the battlefield, cutting through the noise with a chilling clarity. Estelle’s blood ran cold as the voice filled the air—a voice she shouldn’t recognize, yet one that struck a chord deep within her.
“Beloved citizens,” the voice spoke softly, dripping with a sickening warmth. “My dear children, cease your fighting. This conflict only brings us further from the order we all seek.”
The words were calm, almost affectionate, but they carried a weight that silenced the battlefield. To Estelle’s shock, the brutal clash between the resistance and the soldiers abruptly halted. Weapons lowered, combatants froze in place, their eyes glazing over as if caught in a trance. It was as if the very air had thickened, holding everyone in a suffocating grip.
Everyone except for her.
She stood amidst the frozen chaos, her heart pounding in her chest as she struggled to comprehend what was happening. The voice continued to speak, soothing and sinister all at once, and Estelle’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of a memory she didn’t fully understand.
Cyran... The name echoed in her mind, unfamiliar yet filled with a sense of dread. How could she know this voice? How could she know that this was dangerous—that she needed to move, now?
Driven by an instinct she couldn’t explain, Estelle turned on her heel and ran. The pain in her body flared with every step, but she pushed through it, fueled by a growing urgency. She needed to reach... somewhere. She didn’t know where, but her feet carried her forward with a purpose that bypassed her conscious thought.
The hallways blurred past her as she sprinted, the silence behind her only amplifying the sound of her labored breathing and pounding heartbeat. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and fear, but one thing was clear: she was the only one who could stop whatever was happening.
Finally, she came to a halt in front of a large, sturdy double door. It was made of heavy wood, reinforced with metal, and bore intricate carvings that seemed to pulse with an energy of their own. The door was familiar, hauntingly so, yet she couldn’t place why. It was as if it belonged to a place she had once known in a dream—a place that both welcomed and repelled her.
Steeling herself, Estelle pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
The room beyond was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with tension. And there, standing at the far end of the room, was Alaric. He was still, his gaze fixed on the man who stood before him. A man speaking into a microphone, his voice the very one that had brought the battle to a halt.
Cyran.
The sight of him sent a jolt of recognition through Estelle. The man before her was tall and composed, with an air of authority that seemed to radiate from him. His voice, when he spoke again, was smooth and controlled, dripping with the kind of confidence that could command armies.
"And now," Cyran said softly, his tone laced with an almost fatherly warmth, "my beloved citizens, let us end this senseless fighting and work toward a future of peace and unity."
Estelle’s breath caught in her throat as she realized the full extent of what was happening. Cyran wasn’t just a man; he was a force, a presence that could bend the will of those around him. And now, standing in this room, she understood that he was more dangerous than any enemy she had ever faced.
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But there was no time to process that terror. Instinctively, Estelle dashed forward, her body reacting on pure impulse. She had to reach Cyran, to break the hold this monster had on everyone. Cyran’s eyes widened in surprise at the sight of her sudden movement.
“What—You, stop her!” Cyran barked the command at Alaric, his voice sharp and authoritative. Immediately, Alaric moved to intercept her, his body responding without hesitation to Cyran’s will.
Estelle skidded to a halt, her heart pounding as she saw Alaric standing between her and Cyran. There was a brief, flickering moment in his eyes—a shadow of recognition, perhaps—but it was quickly snuffed out as Cyran’s influence tightened its grip on him.
“What… How are you not affected?” Cyran’s voice was laced with confusion and disbelief. “No… How could you even be here, with that piece of junk no less?” His gaze flicked to the sword in Estelle’s hand, a sneer curling his lips.
Estelle’s determination didn’t waver, even as Alaric’s presence loomed threateningly before her. She tried to move past him, desperate to break through, but Cyran’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“But that doesn’t matter,” Cyran said, his tone dismissive as he issued his command. “My child, eliminate her.”
A chilling dread settled in Estelle’s chest as Alaric’s eyes darkened, his posture shifting into an aggressive stance. She could feel the weight of his power, the metal around the room subtly vibrating in response to his will. He advanced on her, and Estelle’s heart ached with the knowledge that she couldn’t fight him—not like this.
She drew her sword, her grip tight but hesitant. Alaric lunged at her, metal shards from nearby objects flying toward her with lethal precision. Estelle dodged as best she could, deflecting some of the shards with her sword, but the pain from her previous injuries slowed her down. Each movement was agonizing, but she forced herself to endure it.
Their battle was a dance of desperation, Alaric’s attacks relentless as he pursued her. Estelle did everything she could to avoid his strikes, her mind racing for a way to break through to him. The room was a whirlwind of clashing metal and frantic movement, but through it all, Estelle’s resolve remained firm—she had to reach Alaric, had to free him from Cyran’s control.
But as she continued to evade his attacks, the weight of her injuries and the emotional toll of fighting someone she cared about began to wear on her. She knew she couldn’t keep this up for long.
As Alaric started to corner her, Estelle caught sight of something she hadn’t expected—tears. A single tear slid down Alaric’s cheek, and the sight of it pierced her heart like a knife. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized the depth of his pain, the torment he must have been enduring. He wasn’t just fighting her—he was fighting the ghosts of their shared past, the memories of someone he had lost and couldn’t bear to lose again.
“Please stop,” Estelle cried out, her voice trembling with desperation. She didn’t know if her words would reach him, but she had to try—she had to save him from this madness.
To her astonishment, Alaric froze. His hand, still holding his weapon, wavered in mid-air, and for a moment, it seemed as if the entire world had come to a standstill. Estelle could feel her strength slipping away, as if the very fabric of time had unraveled, leaving her on the brink of collapse. She glanced around, and it was as if the world itself had been frozen in time—except for her and Cyran.
Cyran’s confident smirk faltered, confusion and panic flashing across his face as he realized something was terribly wrong. The arrogance that had filled him just moments before drained away as he scrambled to grab a gun nearby. He aimed it at Estelle, desperation in his eyes, but she barely flinched. With a swift motion, she deflected the shots, the bullets ricocheting harmlessly away.
Every movement felt like an eternity as Estelle gathered the last vestiges of her strength. Cyran, now a shadow of the threat he once was, stumbled backward, his fear palpable. Desperation clawed at him as he tried to persuade her, his voice a frantic mix of coaxing and pleading. “You don’t have to do this,” he urged, his tone wavering as he offered hollow promises of power and safety.
When persuasion failed, his words turned darker, laced with threats and warnings of the consequences if she continued. But Estelle was beyond hearing him. Her focus was unyielding, a determination to end this nightmare that had torn their world apart—she moved forward, unaffected by Cyran's frantic attempts to sway her.
As Cyran tried to back away, Estelle’s grip on her sword tightened. Her body screamed in protest, but her will pushed her forward. With one final effort, she raised her sword, her gaze locking onto Cyran. This was the root of the pain that had plagued them all. She wouldn’t let him hurt anyone else.
With a powerful, precise strike, Estelle drove her sword forward, piercing through the source of their misfortune once again. Cyran’s eyes widened in shock and fear as the blade found its mark, a faint gasp escaping his lips. The world seemed to tremble as the blow landed, and in that instant, the hold that time had over them shattered.
The frozen moment dissolved, the sounds and movement of the world rushing back in an overwhelming wave. Estelle, barely standing, felt the weight of her exhaustion crash down on her as Cyran’s figure crumpled to the ground. The thicken air that had once filled the room began to dissipate, leaving behind a silence that was almost deafening.
She could barely hold onto her sword as she staggered, her vision swimming. But as she looked up, she saw Alaric standing there. His hands lowered, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and sorrow. Estelle’s legs finally gave out, and she fell to her knees, her strength utterly spent.
Alaric rushed to her side, his heart pounding in his chest as he knelt down beside Estelle. “Estelle!” he called out, his voice cracking with desperation. His hands shook as he reached for her, to cradle her frail form as she swayed, barely able to stay conscious. “Why are you here? Why do you always put yourself in danger like this?” His voice was thick with emotion, the fear of losing her again making it hard to breathe.
Estelle’s vision blurred, but she could still make out the anguish in his eyes. Gently, she pushed his hands away, shaking her head. “Alaric,” she whispered, her voice weak but firm, “I’m not your Estelle.”
Her words stunned him, and for a moment, Alaric simply stared at her, his breath catching in his throat. The weight of what she was saying pressed down on him like a physical force, but he couldn’t let go—not now, not when he had finally found her again. “It’s fine,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “Just stay with me, please.”
But Estelle shook her head again, more insistently this time. She could feel the pull of the world, the inevitable end drawing near. Her time here was almost up, and she knew what she had to do. “Alaric,” she repeated, more firmly now, “I’m not your Estelle.”
Alaric’s eyes widened, the realization sinking in. He wanted to protest, to tell her she was wrong, but the truth was there in her eyes. She wasn’t the same person, not the one he had lost. Yet she was still here, still someone he cared about deeply. He reached out again, his hands trembling as they hovered just above her, too afraid to touch her, too afraid of what he might feel.
But before he could say anything more, Estelle reached out with a trembling hand and placed it gently on his cheek, “I know that you are more than capable of securing the future that you all have wished for,” she said, her voice soft but filled with conviction. She needed him to believe in himself, to believe that he could go on without her.
Alaric’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes filling with tears as he looked down at her, his heart breaking. He understood what she was trying to do, and it tore him apart. “You’re so cruel,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.
Estelle gave him a faint smile, her eyes softening as she looked up at him, her heart aching for the pain she was causing. “I really am,” she said, her voice laced with sorrow and regret. “So don’t blame yourself.”
Alaric’s resolve crumbling, reached out to her once more. His hands desperate tried to hold on to her, to keep her from slipping away. But Estelle, her strength waning, shook her head one last time. “So goodbye, Alaric,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet, bittersweet acceptance. “I’m glad to have met you. Please… be happy.”
Her words hung in the air like a final, fragile thread, and the world around her began to fade. The last thing she saw was Alaric’s face, filled with pain and sorrow. And then everything went white.