Chapter Text
Kiana Kaslana was sixteen when she witnessed the end of the world.
The only sound her ears picked up on was the howling of winds, the flow of water, but not the sound of life. With regards to that, the only thing she felt was the frantic thudding of her heart against her chest, and she clutched the hem of her skirt tightly.
Mismatched eyes of gold and blue glanced around -- nothing but ruins surrounded her, all grey and dull. She knew that such a thing would have been inevitable, but she wished that it would not have come too soon.
People had pledged to stay, but circumstances took them away.
Because they didn't know as much as she had, didn't experience as much as she did.
You know it’s only a matter of time before you fall as well, a part of her whispers to her, and she’s unfazed by its implication. Stop dilly-dallying and give in, already.
“No,” she shouted to the void, as lances materialised near her and she flew into the air, weapons poised at the ready. “I have to do this.
While I’m still myself.”
She was nine when she signed a contract while her papa was away.
Become a magical girl, it said. You had so much untapped potential, simply waiting to be drawn out.
She was naive and filled with dreams then; unable to think of anything but gaining the ability to transform into a stylish dress, gain magical powers, work miracles and defeat evil, she had wholeheartedly agreed without a second thought.
Maybe that was why she didn’t notice when her magical dress wasn’t frilly or cutesy like the ones she had seen on television or manga, her hair had suddenly grown longer after her braids had come undone, and her own gaze was sharper. But what stuck out the most was that she was no longer standing on the ground but rather floating, just enough for her toes to brush against the floor she was once on.
“I’m flying,” she gushed, and she made her way over to a mirror, her features brightening over how easy it was to move when she was in the air, performing a twirl just to watch the corners of her dress flare outwards ever so slightly. “And I’m pretty.”
She didn’t think twice when it instructed her to swallow the amber gemstone that had materialised near her either; it was an important step to ensure that the power would stay with her forever and that no one else would snatch it away.
Nobody recognised her as she flew around, hurling subspace lances that materialised out of nowhere that struck true, defeating monsters (Honkai beasts, it said) and saving good people from the bad ones. She was a good girl doing good things, surely papa would praise her now.
Right?
She was nine when she had her first negative reaction to the power; lines off crimson had crawled up her face, her hands, her limbs, and it had hurt so badly, she wailed until her voice had gone hoarse.
It said it was a necessary step in ensuring that the power would merge completely with her, and that the pain was simply magic settling itself in her body. And for a moment, she regretted everything; trusting it, agreeing to what it said, and everything she did after. How could pain be good? Weakly, she calls out to papa, even though she knew that he wouldn’t answer; he wasn’t home.
Eventually, she fainted; it was too much for her to bear, and she was too young for her to process as such. For once, death seemed like a favourable option.
When she came to, she was lying in the centre of ruins, and papa was gone.