Chapter Text
Morning comes quietly.
Alicia wakes before the others, even Lune.
For a moment she doesn’t remember where she is. The ceiling is too high, the air too still. Then, the smell of metal and old wood returns, and memory settles back into place.
The mountain.
The Burn.
The dream.
Old Lumière.
Monoco.
Her stomach tightens.
She sits up slowly. The pain in her body has dulled overnight, yet she can still feel the burn lapping slowly over her muscles. It never truly leaves, but yesterday just made it flare up all over again.
They had all decided to sleep in one of the old train cars, where it was slightly warmer. Alicia carefully steps over Gustave, who had insisted on sleeping close by her after what happened (which she didn’t argue against), as she made her way out onto the platform.
Outside, the silver light of dawn is filtering through the shattered glass ceiling of the station. Frost rims broken panes suspended in midair, rotating slowly on an axis, turning the sunlight into something soft and diffused. Snow outside glows pale blue. She only notices the floating train above their heads now.
She decides to go on a walk around the station to clear her head. Too many thoughts and worries still muddle her brain.
Yesterday was too close. For the first time in a month since she took up this disguise, she truly thought it was over.
That then gave her pause, her legs halting mid-step.
A month.
It’s really been an entire month. A whole month of deceiving these people. A whole month of them believing her to be someone they love, when really she’s just an imposter masquerading around with her face. A whole month of actually enjoying being a liar.
Just that realization alone makes her gut ache, the guilt of her actions she’s been trying so hard to fight off (and when that hasn’t worked, compartmentalize) crashing back to her. It’s a horrible, physical sensation, like she’s been stabbed in the stomach and someone is twisting the knife around, tearing her up from the inside out.
Nausea bubbles up in her throat, hot and acidic, and she can’t hold it back- she careens sideways out of the station, keels over, and throws up everywhere.
It isn’t vomit that her body purges. Not really. It’s something thick and black, ringed in impossible colors like an oil spill. A bilious odor mixed with turpentine assaults her nose and makes her eyes water—or perhaps that’s from the ache of regurgitating her guts or the guilt eating away at her. Really, it doesn’t matter.
She vomits again.
She’s a terrible person.
She’s always known it- she’s learned that she was created with the innate feeling of being bad. But this is different than that. This horridity is personal to her and her actions.
Maybe she could have blamed Aline at the start. She was an unwilling puppet forced into this role. She didn’t have a choice!
But then, she started to really play the part. She started to learn the cues. She memorized her lines and the stage directions, just like an actor would.
She could have told the Expedition from the start that she wasn’t Maelle. She should have. But she didn’t.
Why?
Aline promised immense punishment for disobeying her. Alicia could only imagine the pain that would befall her if she had spoken up. But was she really so horrible that she feared her own damnation more than whatever Maelle was facing right now?
Yes.
But that isn’t the reason she decided not to speak up. Not the main one, at least. She wishes it was, though, because at least that reason could be pitied.
Nay, her true reason is much more selfish. More self-satisfying. More disgusting.
She doesn’t even want to think about it.
There’s tiny footsteps pattering over from behind, and Alicia gasps softly. She swallows the churning guilt, forcing it down, and scuffs her foot, mixing up the vomit and the snow into a gross slushy of black.
“Maelle!” Noco yips, bounding over to her. “You’re awake already!”
She turns to him, forcing a smile. She can still taste the paint-thick acid on her tongue. “Yeah, I am.”
Noco peeks around her, at the mess behind her. “What were you doing?” he asks, as intrusively curious as always.
“Oh, nothing,” she answers, trying to steer him away. “Just looking at something. Let’s head back to the others!”
“But—”
“Come on!”
When they get back to the platform, Monoco is there.
“You live,” he says.
Alicia huffs faintly. “Seems so.”
“Good. Saves your friends from burying anyone.”
She almost smiles.
Inside the train car, the others begin to stir. Sciel stretches with a dramatic groan, wings of her coat spreading like she’s shaking off sleep itself. Gustave wakes more quietly, then jolts up when he doesn’t see Alicia anywhere and only relaxes when he notices her out the window. Lune is already sitting, notebook open, double checking the notes from the night before.
Routine returns quickly—packing bedrolls, checking supplies, sharing hot tea.
“Where are you all heading now?” Monoco asks at one point. He’s been lingering around the group, mostly silent.
“Old Lumière,” Lune informs him.
Monoco pauses.
Even through the fixed neutrality of his mask, something shifts—attention sharpening.
“…Is that so,” he says.
“You know it?” Gustave questions, leaning in with interest.
“Everyone knows it. It would be hard not to,” Monoco replies. “Nobody goes. For good reason.”
Sciel grins lightly. “Lucky for us, we specialize in bad decisions.”
“And it’s the quickest way to the bay that will lead to the Monolith,” Lune adds.
Monoco considers this.
Then, he taps his staff firmly on the ground, causing the bell to ring.
“I see,” he says. “I’m coming.”
They all blink. Even some nearby Grandis turn when they hear this.
Gustave straightens. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
Monoco walks past him anyway.
“But you all need a guide. Plus, it’s been getting a bit dull around here lately.”
“But, Papa, you hate Old Lumière!” Noco says.
Monoco grunts. “I know. Even still…”
“Well, I’m going, too!” Noco chirps. “Old Lumière will have customers no Gestral has reached yet!”
“It’ll be dangerous,” Monoco says. “So of course you can come. I will go get our packs.”
Sciel shoots Lune a delighted look. “You’ll get to travel with real Gestrals!”
Lune, who is clearly trying to hide her excitement behind stoicism, just gives a curt nod. She isn’t arguing against this at all. “This will be interesting.”
They end up heading out late in the morning, and the descent from the mountain takes the entirety of that day.
Snow gives way slowly—not all at once, but in patches. First the ice thins beneath their boots, then dark stone begins to show through, slick with meltwater. The air warms just enough that their breath no longer fogs constantly. Wind loses its knife-edge bite.
By mid morning the next day, they step off the last ridge.
Behind them, the mountain rises like a white wall against the sky.
And ahead—
The plains stretch endlessly.
Golden and emerald grass bends in long, rippling waves beneath a pale sun, broken only by scattered ruins and the occasional skeletal remains of old roadways cutting through the land. Far in the distance, barely visible through haze, something jagged interrupts the horizon.
Old Lumière.
They don’t mention it yet.
Instead, travel settles into rhythm.
Days blur together.
Morning walks beneath soft clouds while Sciel insists on stretching breaks that she claims are essential for morale and absolutely not excuses to fuss over everyone’s posture.
“Shoulders back, Maelle!” she chirps one morning.
Alicia startles before remembering to straighten, forcing a shy little smile she hopes looks natural. “R-Right.”
Gustave chuckles. “She’s turning us into a marching troupe.”
“Discipline prevents injury,” Sciel replies primly, immediately adjusting Lune’s Expedition sash despite Lune clearly having tied it perfectly herself.
Monoco watches this with silent disbelief.
“You people talk too much,” he mutters.
“Tell me about it,” Lune says.
“You’ll get used to us,” Sciel says brightly.
“I won’t,” he replies.
But he absolutely already has.
At night, they camp beneath open skies.
The plains are quiet in a way the mountains weren’t—no roaring wind, no shifting ice. Just insects humming softly and distant Nevron noises carried across the grass.
Alicia does her best to get back into the flow of playing the part of Maelle, but she knows she’s gotten quieter since the Burn. All of her hard work seems to have been turned to ash when the fire inflicted her, and now she has to start all over again.
The weather grows softer as they travel east.
Snow becomes memory. Grass turns greener. Streams appear, winding silver through the plains. They refill canteens, wash dust from their hands, rest beneath leaning stone markers from Expeditions long past.
Glowing swords begin to appear. Huge, luminous things stabbed into the earth in every direction. Lune notes that the energy they give off is immense.
Each day, Old Lumière grows larger on the horizon.
What began as a faint shape becomes unmistakable ruins—broken towers rising like ribs from the earth.
Alicia notices before anyone says it aloud.
Her steps slow.
She forces herself to brighten instead.
“We’re getting close, right?” she asks, injecting Maelle’s eager energy into her voice.
Lune nods. “Yes. Another day’s travel, perhaps less.”
Sciel stretches her arms overhead. “Civilization! Or…former civilization.”
“Ruins,” Monoco corrects.
Gustave glances toward Alicia. “You alright?”
The question comes so naturally it almost breaks her composure.
She nods quickly. “Yeah. Just…nervous.”
“It’s good to feel nervous when you approach this old place,” Monoco says.
They crest a final low hill as evening light spills gold across the plains.
And there it is.
Old Lumière.
The ruined city sprawls across the horizon—collapsed domes, shattered towers, and silent streets stretching farther than the eye can follow. Sunlight catches broken glass and turns the entire city into something glittering and unreal.
The group slows instinctively.
Even Noco falls quiet.
Wind moves through the tall grass around them, whispering toward the ruins.
Alicia stands at the front beside Gustave. One of her hands unconsciously reaches for him, and he takes it, squeezing it reassuringly.
“Wow,” Sciel breathes.
“Yeah…” Gustave says.
Alicia tilts her head slightly, studying the city as if seeing it for the first time.
As if it isn’t the place she once called home.
“There it is…” she says.
Lune takes a breath. Nods resolutely. “Let’s go.”
The outskirts rise gradually from the plains; first broken roadstones half-buried in grass, then rusted rail lines cutting crooked paths through the earth, then the skeletal remains of homes swallowed by ivy and time. Windows gape like empty eye sockets. Balconies hang at impossible angles. Statues without faces stand guard over nothing.
The city, even the outer ring, feels…wrong.
Too quiet.
Even the wind seems careful here.
Lune is the one who finally says it.
“We camp here,” she announces after a long moment, adjusting her glove. “Entering at dusk would be unwise. Structural instability, unknown Nevron density, possible Chroma distortions—”
“And,” Sciel adds gently, “it’s been a long walk.”
Gustave nods. “We’ll go in fresh.”
Monoco surveys the perimeter with immense suspicion. “I do not like this place…”
“So many marketing opportunities!” Noco says with great joy, gazing out at the looming city.
Alicia isn’t looking when Lune lights the fire, but she still jumps anyway at the sound of the tinder igniting. Monoco notices.
“Jumpy?” he says.
“A little,” she answers, and she leaves it at that.
Alicia helps where she can—fetching water, laying out supplies, mimicking the small helpful habits she’s learned Maelle would do. Every movement feels watched, even when no one is looking.
Plans are discussed over dinner.
“We enter once it’s bright enough,” Lune says, spreading maps across flat stones. “We stay together. Structures will be unstable, and Nevron activity is highly probable. Hopefully, traversing through the city won’t take more than a day or two.”
They all agree to her plans. She knows best.
Night settles heavy and deep.
Old Lumière looms nearby, its silhouette jagged against a violet sky. No lights burn within its ruins. No movement shows in broken streets.
Just silence.
They sleep.
Eventually.
Alicia dreams.
She is small again.
Snow crunches under boots. Laughter echoes between buildings that are whole, alive, warm with light. Lanterns glow gold along bustling streets. Music drifts from open windows.
Old Lumière, before.
Verso races ahead, turning backward as he laughs. Clea follows more carefully, calling warnings neither of them listen to. Alicia runs after them, smaller, slower, breathless but happy—
Her mouth opens, maybe to feign words—
And then, the sky cracks.
People freeze.
Paint spills downward like liquid night.
The ground begins to shake.
And, like that, the screaming starts.
Terrified, agonized shrieks rip through the air as huge fissures split through the city. The tremors are so great that buildings crumble to ruins. Beasts unlike anyone has ever seen before pour through the streets and begin ripping people to pieces.
Alicia is crawling through broken glass and blood. Her hands are ripped to shreds. She’s wheezing for her family, tears pouring down her cheeks, but she can’t see any of them.
The next thing she knows, the beasts are upon her. They rip her chest open and smash through her ribs. One of them reaches in and grabs her heart, tearing it out of her while she’s still screaming.
“This is not yours to keep,” it snarls, and it has Gustave’s voice, Sciel’s voice, Lune’s voice, Maelle’s voice.
She wakes with a violent gasp.
Cold air tears into her lungs. Her hands clutch at her chest, trembling. For a moment she doesn’t know where she is—ruins, plains, past, present—everything tangled together.
The fire has burned low, but she still can’t stand to look at it.
Most of the camp sleeps.
Except—
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
Quill against paper.
“Nightmare?”
Alicia turns her head.
Lune is still awake.
The woman sits upright near the fire’s faint glow, journal balanced against her knee, pen moving in careful strokes. A small floating orb of light hovers near her shoulder, illuminating the page without waking the others.
Alicia swallows.
“…Y-Yeah,” she answers, forcing her voice to stay even. Not too strained. Not too composed.
Lune finishes her line before looking up at her. Her eyes are steady. Observant. Not unkind—but nothing escapes them.
“I expected at least one person to dream poorly tonight,” she says. “Memory lingers in places like this. Even if it isn’t yours.”
Alicia’s stomach tightens.
Even if it isn’t yours.
“Yeah,” she says again, softer this time. Weaker.
Her eyes scan the others; she needs to look at something else.
Gustave is laying on his side, his head pillowed by his mechanical arm, which can’t possibly be comfortable, yet he continues to snooze away, snoring softly. His blanket has been yanked halfway off of him by Sciel, who is sprawled nearby on her back, limbs stretched in all directions. Monoco sleeps further away in the shape of a bread loaf, his arms and legs somehow neatly tucked into him. Noco is buried in his mane, his own shot of bristly red hair sticking out front like the horn of a unicorn.
“You’re trembling,” Lune notes, pulling Alicia’s attention right back to her with a jolt.
Truthfully, Alicia hadn’t realized she was.
She curls her fingers into her blanket. “Oh,” she says. “I’m fine.”
“You are not.”
It’s not sharp. Just factual.
The orb of light drifts a little closer, casting soft white over Alicia’s face. Too bright. Too revealing. For a moment, it feels like the Paint coating her body is completely see through—or perhaps, not even there at all.
Alicia’s pulse pounds in her ears.
Does she know?
Did she notice something wrong? The way I talk? The way I hesitate?
Lune studies her for a long moment.
Then, finally, she speaks, each word coming out too slowly, too carefully, like Alicia is a bomb she’s afraid of setting off, “You’ve been acting…different lately. Ever since the storm, specifically.”
Alicia’s heart stutters. The words that come out of her mouth stutter, too, hoarser than she means them to be, similar to how she spoke before, fire-scorched and ash-thick, “D-Different?”
“More talkative,” Lune clarifies. “More direct. But also more hesitant.”
Alicia scrambles for something Maelle would say. At the same time, she fights the urge to not take off running into the darkness and not look back. Maybe if she doesn’t stop for even a second, the Paintress won’t be able to catch up to her.
“I—I just…” She fumbles, struggling to come up with anything, but proper speech keeps escaping her. She has to grind the words out of her aching throat, “I thought I should try to be braver.”
Lune tilts her head slightly, squinting. “Bravery,” she says, “does not usually manifest overnight.”
Alicia wants to throw up. If she throws up, will this end? Will it get Lune off this subject? Or will it only make her look more guilty?
No, she can’t throw up. The moment Lune sees the black substance her body produces, then the questions will never end. And even if she didn’t regurgitate ink and paint, Lune probably still wouldn’t drop this subject. Even in the month since she’s been traveling with the group, Alicia has learned that Lune will happily bring up topics that everyone else put down already. She’s insistent like that, determined to wring out every drop from a conversation, even if the towel is already dry.
A month.
It hits her again just then.
A month of deception.
Maybe you should just tell her already.
Get it over with!
The silence stretches.
“Why do you do that?” Lune asks suddenly.
Alicia’s head spins. Why are there so many questions being hurled at her? She’s still reeling from her nightmare, still feeling the vivid pain of a heart that isn’t truly hers being ripped out of her chest, and now she has to deal with this?
“D-do what?” she stammers.
“You tense up whenever I ask you pretty much anything, like you’re afraid of me or something,” Lune says.
I am. Terrified of you, really. ‘Afraid’ is too light of a word.
“I— I-I just—”
“If something troubles you, you may speak of it. I am not your enemy, Maelle.”
The name feels heavy between them.
Would you still think that if you knew who I really am?
Alicia swallows.
She wants to confess.
For half a heartbeat, she truly does.
But the memory of the Paintress’ threat presses like a hot brand against her mind.
And the Curator’s fury.
And the fear of losing this warmth.
“…I just don’t want to disappoint you,” she whispers instead.
It’s close enough to the truth that it doesn’t catch in her throat.
Lune blinks, surprised.
“You assume my standards are harsher than they are,” she says, and a faint, almost amused exhale escapes her. “I do not expect perfection. I expect effort.”
Alicia looks down at her hands. Pale. Freckles instead of twisted scars. Shaking all the same.
“I’m trying,” she says quietly.
“I know,” Lune replies. “I’m sure this has all been rough for you. Given how young you are. Especially after nearly dying. It’s almost funny how the storm was the closest we’ve gotten to dying since the beach. Not any of the Nevrons, but the ocean… And here we all thought that the monsters would be the most dangerous things on this rock.”
Lune is musing now, something Alicia has learned she does when she’s beginning to loosen her grasp on a specific topic. Alicia’s shoulders loosen by a fraction.
“Yeah,” Alicia nods in agreement. “I also just…want to enjoy all the time I have, I guess. Have all the conversations I can, spend all the time with everyone as much as I can. I suppose that’s why I’m more…talkative now.”
Lune hums, nodding. “I understand. I don’t necessarily mind the chatter. It was just an observation I had.”
“‘Necessarily’?” Alicia echoes.
“You lot can be annoying at times,” Lune says openly, and Alicia can’t help but giggle softly.
Lune’s orb floats back over to her, releasing Alicia from its oppressive light, and Alicia can breathe a bit better now. Being in the center of attention, she’s realized, is not something she enjoys.
“What did you see?” Lune then asks. Her voice is gentle now, softer. She doesn’t seem to be digging for an answer anymore, instead lending an ear.
Even still, Alicia hesitates.
She would love the chance to properly spill her guts of everything she’s been bottling up, even before the Paint coated her skin, but she can’t. Nor can she describe the real nightmare. Not without slipping.
But still, the need to talk to someone gnaws at her.
So, instead, she tiptoes around it.
“…The city,” she says. “Before it broke.”
Lune’s gaze flickers toward the looming silhouette of Old Lumière.
“I don’t know what was happening,” Alicia lies. “I think it was the Fracture. Or whatever my brain thought the Fracture was. But everything was being destroyed, and everyone was dying, and I was looking for— for you guys, but I couldn’t find anyone. And I just kept crawling through debris and bodies, screaming for anyone, but— but there was just nobody. Only me and the destruction and the monsters.”
Lune gives her a steady but gentle look. “I see,” she says. “I can only imagine how terrifying that was. But you’re safe here, with us. We’re all here with you.”
Then, she says something that surprises Alicia, “If the idea of going through the city really disturbs you that much, we can find another way around.”
Alicia hadn’t been expecting that. Lune, who is always set on staying on course and never taking detours, is offering to take an alternative path that might make their journey longer?
“Lune…” Alicia says softly. She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” Lune presses.
Alicia nods, a bit more resolute now. “I’m sure. Like you said…I’m with all of you. I’ll be alright.”
Lune gives her a smile. “You’re a strong girl,” she says, and Alicia feels her heart flutter in her chest, chasing away the ache that had been infecting it just like that. “Now, try to get some rest. Tomorrow will require clarity.”
“Alright. Goodnight, Lune. And…thank you.”
“Mhm. Goodnight, Maelle.”
Alicia lies back down, out of the corner of her eye noticing Monoco turning his head to her ever so slightly. She rolls onto her side, facing away from the fire—but she can still feel Lune’s steady presence behind her. The scratch of pen on paper resumes. Methodical. Grounding.
Her heart gradually slows.
She didn’t get caught.
But she came close.
And somehow—
Lune’s words linger more than the fear.
I am not your enemy.
She breathes deep and starts to drift off again.
And behind her, Lune continues writing—thoughtful, observant, unaware just how close she stood to the truth.
The next day dawns grey and cold.
Mist clings low to the ground, drifting between the broken silhouettes of Old Lumière like breath that never quite leaves the earth. The ruins don’t look any less monstrous in daylight. Sunlight filters through fractured towers and shattered archways, cutting long, pale beams across streets choked with grass and rubble.
The city waits.
Silent.
Watching.
Lune is, of course, the first ready, already tightening the straps of her gear when the others begin stirring. Sciel stretches with a quiet groan, rolling stiffness from her shoulders. Gustave passes out breakfast to everyone. Monoco is standing on a ridge, gazing out at the city, while Noco bounces around him.
Alicia rises last.
She forces herself to stand, brushing dust from her clothes before anyone can notice the hesitation.
It takes an hour for them to fully pack up and mentally prepare.
“Everyone ready?” Gustave finally asks gently, glancing between them.
“Yup!” Sciel gives a reassuring smile. “Stay close. No wandering.”
Her eyes linger on Alicia a fraction longer—protective, warm.
Alicia nods quickly.
“I’m ready.”
The words come easier now.
Perhaps too easy.
They cross into the city shortly after the sun has fully risen.
The transition is immediate.
Outside, the plains had still felt alive- wind, grass, distant birds.
Inside the city, sound dies. Light, too. Even during the day, Old Lumière seems to be smothered in some kind of oppressive cloud of darkness, blotting out the sun and casting everything in macabre shades.
Old Lumière itself is dead. And they must tread lightly across its corpse.
Their footsteps echo too loudly against broken cobblestone. Dust shifts with every movement. Rusted signs creak faintly overhead.
Entire streets simply…end.
Buildings have been sheared cleanly in half, interiors exposed like dollhouses. Bedrooms hang open to the air. Staircases lead nowhere. A chandelier dangles sideways from a ceiling that no longer has walls.
The Fracture didn’t destroy Old Lumière cleanly.
It ripped it apart.
“God…” Gustave whispers.
“Seeing this is…unreal,” Sciel murmurs. “I can’t believe this is where our piece of Lumière came from.”
Lune’s eyes are scanning everything, trying to take it all in, as if she expects what remains of the city to be thrown away, too. “There’s so much history here! I wish I had more time to study it all…”
“I could put a store there and there and there—” Noco is saying, pointing in various directions.
Alicia stays silent.
She knows these streets.
Even buried under ruin, the layout lives in her bones.
There—once a bookstore. She remembers going there all the time to sit in the bay window and read.
That broken plaza—musicians used to play there.
The wide avenue ahead—
Her throat tightens.
She had walked here with her siblings.
Laughing.
Alive.
Now splatters of old blood stains the stone where crowds once gathered.
Signs of battle appear quickly.
Not recent battle.
Old battle.
Feeble weapons lie scattered along the road. Armor pieces rest beside collapsed barricades. Burn marks scar the walls where Chroma once flared desperately against invading forces.
And bodies. So many bodies.
“It must have been chaos,” Sciel says softly, her eyes shifting from corpse to corpse.
“It was,” Monoco grunts. He’s tense, his mane bristled in agitation. “Even after the Fracture. Neurons invaded the city fast. Faster than anyone could run. Those that survived the cataclysm met a grisly fate here, either under monster claws or from the elements.”
Alicia’s stomach twists.
She remembers that, too.
The sky turning wrong. Shapes descending between collapsing towers. The sound of metal screaming against claws. People fleeing toward the harbor only to find half the docks missing and the monsters emerging from the dark waves.
“Those poor people…” Sciel says.
“What was it like?” Lune asks Monoco. “Before the Fracture?”
He thinks for a moment. “Peaceful. Quieter. There were more Gestrals and Grandis than there are now. We lived among humans, and they lived among us. Now, we’re nothing more than a legend to them, separated by the sea.”
“Don’t worry, once we defeat the Paintress, everyone back home will know you’re all real,” Sciel says. “My students would love to know that Gestrals and Grandis are real!”
“Why didn’t you try to come to Lumière?” Lune continues to question.
Monoco shakes his head. “For as much as my people love to fight, we don’t hold a candle to the brutality of Nevrons. Getting to the coast would be much too dangerous. Plus, we aren’t exactly crafty.”
“You’ve made literal giant suits to fight in,” Gustave points out.
“Yes, but they were motivated by the urge to battle. And they have a tendency to explode,” Monoco says. “A boat that would explode isn’t exactly ideal.”
They walk through what seems to once be a commercial district. Shop signs hang crookedly above shattered storefronts. A bakery’s tiled floor remains intact beneath layers of dust, its ovens cracked open like broken teeth. Wind pushes through narrow alleys, carrying the faint smell of salt and old ash. Somewhere distant, stone shifts with a grinding groan, reminding them that the city is still settling even years later.
A shadow moves across a rooftop.
Everyone freezes.
Weapons come up instantly.
A pair of tall, lithe, humanoid Nevrons leap down in front of them. They’re donned in ornate suits of armor. One wields a sword, while the other doesn’t have any arms at all.
Chevalieres.
“I wonder how long it’s been since they’ve seen humans,” Gustave says.
Sciel spins her scythe into position. “Let’s not make this disappointing for them then.”
The fight is quick but tense.
Steel rings against porcelain and metal. Lune’s magic flashes in controlled bursts of light. Monoco’s staff bell chimes sharply as he transforms into a Stalact to smash huge icy forelimbs at the pair.
Alicia moves instinctively.
Her rapier flashes.
Precise.
Efficient.
The Ceramic Chevaliere lunges, but she’s faster. She pivots, strikes, disarms it in a motion so practiced it borders on reflex memory rather than learned skill. Her blade ignites with a purple hue as she drives it between armor plating and into the Nevron’s back.
Gustave glances at her briefly, impressed.
“Nice work, Maelle,” he praises.
She forces a breathless smile. “Thanks.”
The Nevrons fall, dissolving into drifting ash-like particles that scatter across the ruined street.
Silence returns quickly.
Too quickly.
As if the city swallows sound itself.
They don’t linger there any longer.
The deeper they go, the more Old Lumière feels like a grave preserved in time.
Half-collapsed homes still contain furniture visible through broken walls. A child’s toy lies untouched in the middle of the road. A mural stretches across one barely surviving building—its colors faded but still depicting a vibrant, living city that no longer exists.
Sciel slows beside it.
“…It was beautiful,” she murmurs.
“Yes,” Alicia says before she can stop herself.
Everyone looks at her.
Her stomach drops.
She quickly adds, “I mean— it looks like it was. And if our Lumière is anything to go off of…”
Monoco watches her for a moment longer than comfortable.
Then, he nods.
“It was,” he says. “I visited a few times. It was always lively. People knew how to enjoy life back then.”
Just ahead of them, the horizon abruptly drops away—a massive absence where nearly half the city had once stood before being torn free and hurled into the ocean.
“The Fracture line,” Lune gasps as they reach the wide boulevard split clean down the middle. The earth has opened here into a long scar stretching toward the sea, its edges fused into warped glass where unimaginable energy once burned through stone. Fragments of buildings and debris float, suspended by some kind of unknown force. “You can see where the continental shelf tore. The displacement force must have been catastrophic.”
Gustave peers into the chasm. Far below, nothing but destruction lies. “Half the city just…gone. Flung into the ocean.”
“It’s a miracle anyone on your chunk of land survived the fall,” Monoco says. He reaches out and grabs Noco by the hair before he can launch himself off the cliff. “They were the lucky ones.”
The wind rises suddenly through the gap, carrying the distant roar of surf upward. It sounds almost like voices.
Alicia hugs her arms tightly around herself.
She remembers screaming.
She remembers running.
She remembers—
No.
She swallows hard and takes a step back.
Gustave notices. Of course he does.
“Maelle?” he says gently. “Are you alright?”
“Y-yeah,” she lies. “It’s just…a little scary, I guess. I know that’s probably childish, but…”
Gustave shakes his head. “It’s not childish,” he assures her. “I’m scared, too.”
“You are?”
“I am. But you know what? I’m surrounded by my friends, so I can keep going. We can be scared together.”
He offers her his hand, and she doesn’t hesitate to take it. It feels warm around hers.
By midday, the ruined skyline opens toward the distant inner districts, where larger structures loom—government halls, academies, remnants of the city’s heart. The path ahead winds through more devastation, deeper into memory and danger alike.
They pass into a broad plaza dominated by a massive circular fountain. Its central statue—a figure raising a lantern toward the sky—has split cleanly down the middle, one half missing entirely. Rubble fills the basin where water once flowed. Snarls of thorny ivy have started to snake through the debris. The quiet beauty of it feels almost wrong against the devastation surrounding it.
Alicia slows without meaning to.
She remembers standing here as a child.
Snow falling gently while vendors sold sweets along the edges of the square. Verso chasing Clea around the fountain while she laughed silently, clapping her hands because she couldn’t shout encouragement. Lanterns glowing warm against winter dusk.
The memory hits so vividly her breath catches.
She almost hears music.
“…Maelle?”
Gustave’s voice pulls her back sharply.
She blinks, realizing she has stopped entirely.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, stepping forward again. She clutches his hand tighter, not wanting to let go. “Just…thinking.”
He studies her for a moment, concern flickering across his face, but ultimately nods. “We’ll rest soon.”
The reassurance twists something painful in her chest.
They move onward, leaving the plaza behind as streets narrow into a network of academic buildings and civic halls. Tall archways stretch overhead, etched with carvings worn smooth by time. Papers—old notes, documents, fragments of books—litter the ground, their ink faded but still visible in places. Lune crouches occasionally to examine them, her scholarly instincts warring with urgency.
“Incredible,” she whispers once, brushing dust from a page. “Pre-Fracture research records… Preserved. If only we had more time…”
Wind moves through the streets again, stronger this time. It carries the faint scent of dust and something sharper beneath it—metallic, wrong.
Chroma residue.
Alicia feels it before anyone says anything. A prickling sensation crawls across her skin, like static gathering beneath the surface. The air hums faintly, vibrating with leftover energy from battles long past.
Gustave notices next. His grip tightens on her hand, reassuring, protective. “Stay sharp.”
They slow instinctively, scanning rooftops, alleyways, broken windows.
Nothing moves.
And yet the silence feels too deliberate.
Up ahead, the street widens into another plaza of sorts. Dozens of bodies litter the ground, but these aren’t victims of the Fracture. These are Expeditioners, their golden sashes visible on their petrified limbs.
But that isn’t what draws their attention.
It’s the gigantic thing poised above the square.
It’s an absolute behemoth, bigger than any Nevron they’ve ever seen, yet it doesn’t look like a Nevron. It looks human. It’s difficult to see due to the immense curtain of auburn hair pouring down over its head, but behind it lays a human face. It has human limbs and what at least seems to be human skin. Aside from its sheer size, the only thing different between it and a regular person is the huge city growing off of its back like barnacles on a whale. A massive glowing gold sword, similar to the ones they had seen scattered across the field but bigger, pierces straight through its skull. Dead. Just like the Expeditioners below it.
“Holy shit…” Sciel whispers, as if she’s afraid of somehow rousing the beast back to life.
“What the hell is that thing?” Gustave says.
“I have no idea,” Lune says honestly.
Alicia does. Her best friend is one of these creatures. She’s even bigger than this one.
Lune’s eyes scan the scene. “These were the 58s,” she notes. Her gaze snags on a fallen journal, glowing faintly in the dim light. “Let’s see…” She picks it up and begins to read aloud to the others, “Expedition 58, Delphine. The behemoth is such a marvel. It has a small city on its back that I really want to explore, but the others think it’s too risky, too easy to get caught by the Nevs around here. Bah! Verso called this thing an Axon, apparently they are incredibly powerful, with hearts of pure chroma. Utterly unkillable! Except clearly something did. Verso and his father, Renoir, spent years trying to kill the Axons, hoping to forge their hearts into a weapon to break the Barrier. But no dice. I bet the Curator would love to get his hands on one of those hearts, he could easily forge such a weapon.”
The others exchange looks with one another.
“So that thing is called an Axon,” Sciel says, looking back at the giant creature.
“And they can be used to forge a weapon to break the Barrier,” Gustave says. “That’s useful to know.”
Lune seems to be caught on a different detail. “Verso and Renoir…” she says. “The way it’s written, it sounds like they’ve lived a lot longer than what should be possible. I wonder…”
Alicia glances sideways at Monoco. The Gestral is silent, gazing away at the ruins. He clearly has no intention of divulging information on either of the men that have been named. She doesn’t either.
“Let’s keep moving,” Lune says sharply, startling Alicia. “I would prefer to get out of this place before nightfall.”
Alicia looks up at the dead Axon one more time before following the others.
Slowly, the street begins to widen, the buildings spacing out more and more, and a sick feeling grows in Alicia’s gut because she knows this path. This way leads to her old home.
It isn’t long before she sees it in the distance- the huge, grand manor.
When she was younger, she never wondered why her family’s home was so much larger than anyone else’s in the city. Why they had their own space apart from the neighborhoods that others lived in. Why they almost seemed to be a focal point in the community.
She doesn’t want to go near it. But she can’t possibly give a good explanation to the others why she wants to avoid it without sounding suspicious, and her feet won’t stop. It’s like some invisible force has ensnared her and is drawing her in.
“Woah…” Gustave says.
Sciel whistles. “I wonder who lived here. Someone important, I bet.”
Run, Alicia’s head hisses at her. Run! It isn’t safe here! You shouldn’t be here!
The doors to the manor creak open slowly. The echoing tap of a cane reverberates through the silence of the garden like thunder, stabbing Alicia’s heart.
She feels Gustave go rigid at her side. “It’s— it’s him—” he says, barely able to get the words out. He’s started to tremble in both fear and rage.
The white-haired man emerges from the mansion, an echoing tap of his cane preceding each step. He lifts his head to meet Alicia’s gaze, and his bright blue eyes pierce straight through the Paint, right into her very soul.
Run, run, run!
“Ah, Alicia,” her father says. “There you are.”