Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"Do you believe in fate?"

The question hung in the air, weightless yet suffocating, inside the hollow darkness surrounding her. She glanced around. Everything felt too calm. Too serene. Too... comforting. And yet, the stillness only unsettled her more, pressing against her chest like an unseen force.

Her gaze snapped back to the source of the voice—hidden behind a heavy curtain draped over a tall mirror.

"Who... who are you? Where am I?" Her voice wavered, thick with unease. She took a step back. "Let me out—please!"

Her plea echoed endlessly, swallowed by the void.

Then, a giggle. Soft. Amused. As if her fear was nothing more than entertainment for whatever lurked behind that curtain.

"Fate is not something one can escape." The voice was calm, unshaken. "It is a thread, woven beyond mortal power. The inevitable result cannot be changed."

Eleanor’s breath hitched. A thread? Inevitable? What was this person talking about?

"The real question is—will you weave your fate into something grand? Or will you be tangled in the sins of failure?"

The measured tone only made her more anxious. Her fingers curled into fists. "I don’t understand any of this!"

Frustration overtook fear. Without thinking, she grabbed the curtain and yanked it down.

The mirror stood before her.

Her reflection stared back—except it wasn’t quite right. It smiled. She didn’t.

Her breath caught in her throat. "Is... that me?" The realization sent a cold shiver down her spine, her heartbeat stuttering—

Thud.

Not too loud. Not painful. But enough to yank her back to reality. 

"Eleanor Feyrey, sleeping in class again?"

The familiar voice sent a jolt through her. Soft chuckles rippled around her, classmates snickering at her expense.

She blinked rapidly, disoriented. Fluorescent lights, desks. Mr. Bernard’s stern gaze. Right, she was back. In class.

Her fingers twitched against the desk as she rubbed her eyes, her mind still tangled in the remnants of that strange dream.

Scattered giggles and hushed whispers rippled through the classroom. She could feel her classmates’ amused glances burning into her, and heat crept up her cheeks. She quickly lowered her gaze to her lap, trying to shrink into herself.

"I'm sorry. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose…" She bit the inside of her cheek, then muttered, "I just... have a lot on my mind, that’s all."

Mr. Bernard sighed, crossing his arms. "Well, one of the things you should be worrying about is school. Your grades are slipping, and so is your attitude."

Eleanor barely processed his words. Her mind was already drifting. The classroom blurred at the edges, the fluorescent lights above her dulling into a hazy glow.

His voice faded, warping into an indistinct murmur, like someone talking underwater. Only one sentence cut through the fog.

"It's a shame. You were such a bright student back then. What happened to you?"

A lump formed in her throat. She didn't have an answer to that.

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The sun hung high, its golden rays spilling through the cafeteria windows, casting warm patterns onto Eleanor’s face. She turned her gaze outside, watching a small group of birds perched on the branch of a towering alder tree. Their chirping blended with the distant chatter of students, creating an odd contrast between nature’s serenity and the chaos inside.

Alder trees were scattered all over the school grounds—fitting, considering the academy was named after them.

Eleanor’s brown eyes flickered back to the cafeteria, where the air buzzed with movement. The heat from the packed crowd made everything feel stifling, students lining up for lunch while others argued over their place in the queue. Somewhere near the food station, a fight had broken out over spilled soup—ironically, the kind no one even liked.

Fortunately, Eleanor had managed to avoid the madness, settling into the farthest corner of the cafeteria with her friends. One of them had already grabbed her lunch, knowing she’d be late. Mr. Bernard had held her back for an extra ‘lecture’ after class, as if her grades weren’t already enough of a punishment.

"That teacher’s really giving you a hard time, huh? What was his name again… Mr. Bernard, isn’t it?" Leona asked, lazily resting her chin in her palm.

Her voice, raspy and low, could almost pass for a guy’s. And if she were one, she’d probably be mistaken for a jock—her unbuttoned shirt, loose yellow varsity jacket, and black stockings only added to the effect. Her short bob, streaked with chocolate and cream highlights, shifted slightly as a breeze passed through the open windows. Strands of hair nearly covered her striking emerald eyes, freckles dusting her sun-kissed skin.

"Don't stress over that prick!" another voice chimed in—loud enough that a few students turned their heads. "He’s just some random old guy with an annoying personality who somehow became a teacher."

Eleanor didn’t even flinch. She was used to Mya’s complete lack of volume control by now.

Mya’s presence alone had a way of lifting the mood. Her dark pink gradient hair, topped with two stray strands resembling alien antennae, bounced as she spoke. Her pink eyes gleamed with energy, accentuated by the small beauty marks beneath both. She wore a pastel cardigan with an alien emblem on the chest—a fitting choice, considering her obsession with anything extraterrestrial.

God, this girl really was a walking alien conspiracy. Pink hair, pink eyes, pink sweater. Even her personality screamed pink.

"It's fine, guys. I swear, I'm barely even thinking about him right now." Eleanor scoffed, resting her chin on both palms, elbows propped against the cafeteria table. Her food remained untouched, growing cold under the dull cafeteria lights. "I'm just... thinking about these dreams."

"Right." Leona's voice carried a mix of concern and skepticism. "How long has this been happening now? Five days? A week?"

"Two weeks, actually," Eleanor admitted, sighing as frustration curled in her chest. What the hell do those dreams even mean?

"Damn. I think you've been watching too much anime, honestly," Mya joked, laughing at her own remark. Leona rolled her eyes, unimpressed, before shifting closer to Eleanor.

"Maybe you should pray before sleeping. It might help with the nightmares." Leona’s tone was softer, almost hopeful.

Mya hesitated for a second before forcing a casual shrug. "Or, you know, maybe your brain's just overworked from all the weird theories we write in this journal." She nudged the book with her knuckle, steering the conversation elsewhere.

Eleanor huffed out a tired laugh. "Seriously, it's okay. Let's just focus on our journal, yeah?" She tried to sound cheerful, though a hint of gloom clung to her words.

Leona gave her a look but let it slide. "Mm... yeah, sure. Let's go over the latest pages first."

The three of them huddled closer as Leona flicked through the worn pages of their shared journal. It was filled with scribbled theories, ridiculous questions, and chaotic doodles.

"Is Eddy Shauren’s ginger hair contagious?", "What’s the correlation between the Illuminati and baby oil?", 
"Are ANC cookies actually spying on us?"

Eleanor chuckled, shaking her head. "You know... maybe we should start writing about something a little more serious." Her gaze drifted to the blank pages ahead, ideas already forming in her mind.

Journaling wasn’t just a hobby for Eleanor—it was a passion, a way to make sense of the world. Some people wrote diaries to vent their thoughts, but Eleanor? She chronicled mysteries, conspiracies, and the secrets hidden between the cracks of everyday life. It wasn’t just about writing; it was about uncovering the truth.

She had even helped her uncle—once, maybe twice—solve real cases, including a murder mystery that made local headlines. It earned her a bit of a reputation, a mix of admiration and jealousy. Some people whispered about her sharp instincts, while others saw her as a nosy girl who didn’t know when to stop digging.

She loved theorizing with her friends, whether it was about celebrities hiding double lives, political scandals (which could probably get them arrested if leaked), or unsolved serial killer cases. Ironically, despite her current frustration, even the cryptic dreams that plagued her nights were starting to feel like fuel for inspiration.

"How about we start writing about Fortuna?" Eleanor suggested, her eyes lighting up with sudden enthusiasm.

Leona perked up immediately, her emerald eyes shimmering with interest. "That’s a great idea! There’s so much to cover."

Mya, never one to waste time, shot up her hand. "Then let’s start right now! We need materials—library, let’s go!"

Without hesitation, the three of them rushed to finish their food, quickly packing up their things. With their journal in hand and ideas brewing, they made their way to the school library, ready to unravel another mystery—one that, unbeknownst to them, would change everything.

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Eleanor stared at her reflection in the mirror, her brown eyes tracing over familiar features. Her green hair, streaked with white bangs, was tied into a loose side braid, and a delicate blue flower headpiece nestled neatly against it. She wore a long-sleeved pastel floral dress—soft, elegant, and probably too fancy for the arcade. Not that she minded. Leg warmers wrapped snugly around her calves to shield against the evening chill, and a pair of white Mary Janes sat by the door, waiting to be slipped on.

An odd choice for a night out at the arcade, but it wasn’t like she cared much for blending in.

Her gaze flickered toward her desk, where the open pages of her journal lay, untouched since earlier. Their attempt at journaling about Fortuna had turned into a heated debate—Mya and Leona had thrown arguments back and forth, their voices rising and falling until they finally landed on a conclusion:

"On October 8, 1846, the Astral Crystal shattered into twelve pieces, scattering across the world. That same night, an unscheduled eclipse darkened the skies, signaling the loss of the Goddess of Fate’s power—her death. Fortuna’s fate remains an unsolved mystery, though whispers of divine punishment circulate among skeptics. Her devoted followers, however, deny such claims, believing instead that her death was merely the next step in fate’s design. Others theorize that her passing heralds the arrival of a new god, one yet to reveal themselves."

Eleanor reread the words in her head, her fingers brushing over the edges of the journal before shutting it with a soft thud.

She pushed herself up from the chair and headed for the door. As she descended the stairs, the familiar scent of her uncle’s cologne filled the air. He was seated in the living room, flipping through a stack of papers—work, most likely. He didn’t glance up, and she didn’t disturb him.

Silence settled between them, thick and unspoken.

"I’m heading out," she murmured, slipping out the door before waiting for a response. The lock clicked behind her, and she tucked the key into her clutch before pulling out her phone. "On the way! ᕙ⁠(⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠⁠)⁠ᕗ". She sent the message to their group chat before switching off her screen and slipping the device away.

The night air bit at her cheeks, crisp and cool. Her breath curled into faint wisps as she walked, the rhythmic click of her shoes echoing softly against the quiet pavement. Streetlights stretched long shadows across the damp ground, their halos casting a muted glow over the empty street.

Her thoughts drifted, wandering between reality and the weight of the past. Between myths and mysteries. Between fate and—

She exhaled, shaking her head. 

Journaling was her only escape—from the dull routine, from the hollow spaces in her life, from the silence that stretched too long in her empty home.

She had never truly learned how to belong. The absence of parental figures made it hard for her to connect with others, to navigate the unspoken rules of socializing, especially at school.

She wasn’t necessarily an outcast, but she always felt like she was standing at the edges of every conversation, just a little too detached.

Maybe that’s why she clung so hard to her curiosity, othing thrilled her more than piecing together fragments of the unknown.

And now, those cryptic dreams and the mystery surrounding Fortuna had sunk their claws into her mind, refusing to let go.

The lack of information infuriated her. She needed answers. She had to know. What did those dreams mean? Why did they feel so significant? The more she tried to unravel them, the tighter the knots became, leaving her restless.

Her fingers curled into her clutch as frustration swirled inside her—

Bruk!!

A sudden, sharp sound shattered the quiet.

Eleanor flinched, her head snapping toward the source. Her breath hitched slightly as she took in the sight before her—an old, abandoned cathedral, its once-grand architecture now crumbling under time’s weight.

The statue of Fortuna stood in the center of the overgrown courtyard, cracked and broken, vines curling around its form like nature reclaiming what was left behind.

She had to have passed by this street before, right? So why did it feel like she was seeing this place for the first time?

Her heartbeat quickened.

Maybe… maybe this was a sign. A clue to the very questions that haunted her.

She glanced at her phone. There was still time before she had to meet up with Mya and Leona.

Just a quick look…

Swallowing down the prickle of unease at the back of her neck, Eleanor took a cautious step forward, her shoes barely making a sound against the pavement as she approached the abandoned cathedral.

As Eleanor stepped inside the cathedral, a hushed awe settled over her.

Despite the years of decay, there was an undeniable beauty lingering within these walls—an echo of its former grandeur. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and aged wood, mingling with the faint traces of incense long burned away.

The walls, once pristine, were now cracked and faded, but remnants of intricate murals still clung to them, their colors dulled but their artistry unmistakable. .

Her gaze, however, was drawn toward the stained-glass window at the heart of the cathedral.

Even in its ruined state, it was breathtaking.

The glass shimmered under the dim light, portraying Fortuna in all her divine splendor—her flowing robes captured mid-motion, her outstretched hands offering blessings to the world below.

The blues and golds of the glass were muted by dust and grime, but the craftsmanship was undeniable. It was as if the goddess herself had once stood there, watching over her followers.

But then Eleanor’s eyes landed on Fortuna’s face—

And her breath caught in her throat.

The glass was shattered, jagged edges forming a gaping wound where the goddess’s serene expression should have been.

Was that the sound I heard earlier?

Her stomach twisted with unease. Had someone done this just now? Some anti-Fortuna rebels, maybe? Had they already fled the scene?

Her lips pressed into a firm pout. If I run into them, they’re getting the scolding of their lives for destroying public property.

Shaking off her unease, she took a cautious step toward the altar, the wooden floor groaning beneath her weight.

Then—

Footsteps.

Not hers.

Her pulse spiked as she froze mid-step.

The sound came from the far end of the cathedral, near the side halls. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she quickly ducked behind a broken pillar, pressing herself against the cold stone.

There’s someone here. No—two people.

She held her breath, straining her ears as the footsteps drew closer. Who the hell would be in an abandoned cathedral at this hour?

Her fingers curled against the pillar as she carefully peeked around the crumbling edge, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruders. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to make sense of the sight before her.

A towering figure stood near the altar, draped in a long, tattered coat with charred ends. Beneath it, a neatly buttoned shirt, black tie, and matching pants gave him an oddly formal appearance—almost too put-together for someone lurking in an abandoned cathedral. His heavy boots, polished but well-worn, echoed faintly against the stone floor with every slight shift of his weight.

But what truly unsettled her was his mask.

A massive, imposing thing, shaped like a feline head. From behind, the pointed ears and sleek design gave off an almost regal presence—like a statue of a watchful predator. But Eleanor couldn't see the front. Not yet.

The second figure was dressed similarly, except he wore a blazer instead of a coat. Unlike the cat-masked man, he wasn’t nearly as unnervingly still. He moved with an edge of skepticism, glancing around warily.

Eleanor squinted, trying to catch a better view of his mask.Then, as if answering her silent question, he turned slightly—just enough for her to see. A groundhog.

Her stomach twisted into knots. By seeing the obnoxious masks, she already knew exactly who they were.

ANC operatives. 

She swallowed hard. What the hell are they doing here? Are they plotting something?

Her brain screamed at her to run. To slip away before they noticed her. Before something horrible happened. But her body—her traitorous body—refused to move.

She was frozen in place, her limbs locked in fear. Then, the groundhog-masked man broke the silence.

"You sure something as valuable as that is in this abandoned cathedral?" His voice was gruff, laced with doubt.

The cat-masked man tilted his head slightly, as if amused. "Of course~ Don't you trust your buddy right here?" His voice was smooth, almost syrupy sweet. The kind of voice that dripped with charm but carried an unmistakable undercurrent of something... off. Something unsettling. "All you gotta do is dig that sweet spot under the broken tiles."

"Right." Despite the obvious reluctance in his tone, the groundhog-masked man sighed and got to work. His boots scraped against the loose dirt as he dug, the sharp clang of his shovel against stone echoing through the ruined cathedral.

And what was the cat-masked man doing? Absolutely nothing. Eleanor stared. He just stood there, unmoving, hands tucked neatly into his coat pockets. He didn’t even pretend to help. Instead, he simply watched, humming an eerie, lilting tune as if this was all some kind of casual evening pastime.

A shovel lay nearby—untouched, within easy reach—but he made no move to pick it up. Eleanor narrowed her eyes. Seriously? You're just going to let your friend do all the work? She shoved that thought aside. That wasn’t what mattered.

What did matter was what the hell they were looking for in this place. She held her breath, her grip tightening around the cold pillar as she continued to watch.

"Y’know…" The cat-masked man’s voice sliced through the silence—and through Eleanor’s frantic thoughts. "You should probably dig faster."

"Why the hell should I?" The groundhog-masked man snapped, irritation thick in his voice.

"Why?" The cat-masked man let out a soft chuckle, almost playful. "Well… because we’re in an abandoned place, silly. We’re being watched by lots of eyes. Especially you, right now."

Eleanor stiffened.

There was a brief pause—just long enough for a cold chill to crawl up her spine—before the cat-masked man’s head turned ever so slightly to the side.

And then—he looked directly at her.

Through the corner of his mask’s narrow, slanted eyes, he held her gaze. A fleeting moment, barely a second—yet it felt like eternity.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he turned away.

"For example," he continued smoothly, his tone never breaking, "crows, insects… and probably this cathedral’s long-lost residents."

Eleanor forgot how to breathe.

Her stomach twisted, and she slumped against the pillar behind her, trembling. A wave of cold sweat prickled at her skin, her heartbeat pounding so loudly in her ears that she could barely hear anything else.

Did I just get caught? No—if he really saw me, I’d be dead by now. But he looked at me— we had eye contact! 

Panic clawed at her throat. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers trembling so badly that she almost dropped it. She needed to call someone—anyone—but as soon as she tapped the screen—

No service, no bars, not a single flicker of signal. What a perfectly fucking unfortunate coincidence.

Her breathing hitched. This was it, this was how she died.

This was karma for every dumb decision she had ever made. For every single time she stuck her nose into other people’s business. For every moment she ignored her gut feeling and thought, "What’s the worst that could happen?"

I’M SO DEAD.

She squeezed her eyes shut and started praying—desperately, frantically.

Listing every sin she could think of. Begging for forgiveness. Bargaining with whatever divine force was listening. At least let me go to heaven after this. Please, please, please let me go to heaven.

"Praying for your fate?"

A wicked voice sliced through the silence. Eleanor’s breath hitched.

The cat-masked man was crouched beside her slumped form—right beside her—his head tilted slightly, his eerie, slanted eyes locking onto her with an intensity that sent ice down her spine.

The mask’s yellow irises, almost swallowing up the sclera, pinned her in place, its jet-black pupils feeling like endless voids. The mouth was stretched unnaturally wide, hanging open just enough to reveal rows of needle-like teeth—jagged, irregular, too many to count. The edges of its lips curled into something almost human.

But the sheer sharpness of its grin made it monstrous.

Long, wiry whiskers twitched slightly, as if sensing the air around them, only adding to the uncanny presence looming over her. Shadows clung to his figure, stretching and shifting in a way that made it seem like the cathedral itself breathed around him.

Eleanor let out a startled scream. She scrambled back, her hands digging into the dirt, eyes blown wide. But he—he didn’t move. Didn’t react. Didn’t try to silence her.

Instead, he simply watched her. Amused.

"It’s awesome, isn’t it?" he mused, his tone dripping with enthusiasm. "Nobody can hear you scream in this place."

His voice was disturbingly cheerful.

Eleanor’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her legs trembled—she tried to move, tried—but they wouldn’t obey. It was like her entire body had locked up, drowning in the weight of fear.

Then, her gaze flickered lower, and she noticed it, his clothes.. the dark fabric, soaked, sticky, wet—with blood. Her stomach twisted violently. When—when did that happen?!

Where was the other guy? The groundhog-masked man? He was just there—wasn’t he? What the hell happened while she was too caught up in her own panic?!

Her voice barely worked when she managed to stammer, “W-what… happened to your friend?”

For a second, the cat-masked man tilted his head. Almost like he didn’t understand the question. Then, he followed her gaze down to his own blood-drenched clothes.

"Oh! Him!" he chirped, as if just remembering.

His tone was so casual. Too casual.

"Ah, yes. He’s buried about nine feet deep over there. I’m very thankful for his digging skills."

Eleanor felt her entire body seize with horror. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, her skin slick with cold sweat.

He killed him. He killed his own companion—his own teammate—and he was grinning about it. How? How could someone be so cruel?

"I already got what I needed, anyway." His voice was laced with amusement as he pulled something from his coat pocket. A crystal.

It shimmered in the dim light—a breathtaking shade of ethereal blue, its glow pulsing gently, like a heartbeat. A soft luminescence shifted within, creating a mesmerizing dance of shadows and radiance. At the very top, an intricate symbol was carved into the crystal, almost as if it were watching her back.

"Look," he murmured, tilting it just enough for the glow to reflect onto her wide eyes. "Does this pique your curiosity?"

Eleanor’s breath hitched. She knew what this was.

"Is that… an Astral Piece?" The words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

For a brief second, silence hung between them. Then—

The cat-masked man burst into laughter. Unrestrained. Unhinged. A sharp, hysterical noise that echoed through the cathedral, bouncing off the cracked walls and stained glass like a melody of madness.

Eleanor stiffened, staring at him in growing unease. His laughter dragged on for far too long—until, abruptly, it cut off.

"How’d you know?" His voice, now eerily calm, sent a shiver down her spine.

Then, a smirk in his tone—mocking.

"I guess you still have some brain cells left, despite spying on us when you clearly shouldn’t have."

There was sarcasm in his voice, but beneath it… was that a trace of approval?

Before she could react, he stood up. And with a lazy flick of his wrist— He tossed the crystal to her.

Eleanor barely caught it, fingers trembling as the cool surface met her palm.

"Bringing that guy along was a smart move," he mused, strolling leisurely toward the cathedral's altar.

"Boring, though. Sitting around while someone else does the work doesn’t feel satisfying."

His fingers trailed absently along the wooden podium bark, like a cat sharpening its claws.

"Digging it up myself would’ve taken hours, and frankly?" He leaned against the podium, flashing her that eerie, crescent-moon grin. "I’m not built for that. I hunt little mice like you, not dirt."

Eleanor’s stomach twisted. He was giving her space. No—a head start.

Her grip tightened around the crystal as her instincts screamed at her to run.

"Amuse me a little before you die, will you?" he hummed, tilting his head, his grin widening unnaturally. Then—a giggle. Soft. Childlike. Horrifying.

Then he started counting.

"Ten."

Her body moved on instinct. She turned on her heel and ran. The crystal pulsed in her grip as her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

She dashed through the ruined cathedral, her breath ragged, panic clawing at her chest.

Every step sent broken tiles skittering across the floor, the sound swallowed by the vast emptiness around her.

"Nine... eight..."

His voice echoed, slipping through the cracks of shattered stained glass, curling around her like a noose.

She ran straight for the entrance—it had been open before. She had walked right through those doors.

But when she yanked at them—they didn’t budge. What?

She pulled harder. The heavy wooden doors rattled against their rusted hinges, but they were sealed shut. No. No, no, no—

Had they locked on their own? Or worse—had he locked them? A chill slithered down her spine.

"Seven... six... five..."

She spun around, chest heaving. The cathedral stretched out before her, vast and dark, its ruined hallways twisting into endless shadows.

No way out.

Her wild, disheveled hair stuck to her sweat-damp face as she forced herself to move. She ran.

Overgrown vines snagged at her torn, dirt-streaked clothes as she bolted down a crumbling hallway.

The crystal’s eerie glow pulsed against her chest, illuminating her wide, terrified eyes. A staircase. There! She didn't think—she took it.

"Four, three, two—"

Wait—he's counting too fast. Her pulse lurched as she heard his footsteps. Not distant anymore. Close. Too close.

She swore she saw a shadow dart from the altar podium. He's already chasing.

She reached the top of the stairs, heart hammering against her ribs. A small crack in the wall—barely big enough. She threw herself inside, forcing the gap shut with a nearby bookshelf just as— silence.

She crouched, pressing her back against the damp, rotting wood, struggling to quiet her breathing.

The crystal pulsed softly in her trembling fingers, its faint hum the only sound in the suffocating stillness.

Her wide eyes flickered to a narrow slit between the wooden boards. Did he see? Did he hear? She didn't dare move.

Seconds crawled by. Her mind screamed at her to keep running, but her body refused. If she ran now, she'd die. Instead, she forced herself to look around.

A secret room. She hadn't even realized where she was. A place like this... hidden inside a cathedral? The air was thick with dust, stale and forgotten. Bookshelves lined the stone walls, sagging under the weight of time.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to focus—she needed a distraction, something. Anything but the thought of the cat-masked man hunting her down.

Her gaze flickered over the old books and scattered pages. Then—something caught her eye.

A stack of ancient documents atop a mold-ridden table. Pages yellowed with age, covered in unfamiliar writings.

She reached out with shaking hands, her eyes skimming the words. Astronomy. Zodiacs. Life threads. Fate. Prophecy. Her breath hitched. What the hell is this place?

Fingers tightening around the crystal, she carefully pulled a page forward. Its title was scrawled in bold, inked letters: "Prophecy."

She read. Even as her heartbeat thundered in her ears—even as she knew he was still out there.

The stars once whispered, soft yet cold,

Of shattered light and tales untold.

A fate entwined, a path so steep,

Where hope is bright, but shadows creep.

Twelve lights must rise, twelve must fall,

Bound to heed the heavens' call.

A fractured throne, a fate undone,

A goddess lost, a war begun.

She walks the road where few return,

Where love may fade and bridges burn.

For every step, a price is paid,

For every dawn, a dusk must fade.

The hands that lift her, strong and true,

Will bear the weight of loss anew.

For what is won is not yet fre—

The last few lines of what seemed to be a poem were ruined by splotches of black ink, making them unreadable. Eleanor furrowed her brows, tilting the page slightly, but the stains refused to give way to clarity.

"Huh," she muttered, placing it back on the moldy table. "Probably just another one of Fortune’s conspiracy theories..." Dismissing it with a shrug, her gaze returned to the glowing stone in her grasp. The soft, rhythmic pulse of its light mesmerized her. Is there anything here that explains this?

She absentmindedly reached for another document when a faint giggle shattered the silence.

Her breath hitched.

Slowly, her eyes shifted toward the cracked wall. Through the narrow gaps, she could feel it—the unbearable weight of a gaze. He's here. Shit, shit, shit.

Heart pounding, she frantically scanned the dim space for an escape route. Nothing. No door, no window—she was trapped.

"Found you~" The voice dripped with amusement, sending chills down her spine. A loud bang struck the wall, then another. The cat-masked man wasn’t just trying to scare her—he was trying to break through.

The wooden panels groaned under the force of his relentless assault. The cracks in the wall deepened, the mold crumbling like dust.

Eleanor clutched the stone tighter, pressing it against her chest as though it could shield her.

Please, please, oh god, help me! Save me!

But a deceased god cannot hear your prayers. Whom are you even praying to?

A deafening CRASH split the air. The world collapsed into darkness, and it was the last thing she heard. 

... 

Or so she thought. 

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Silence. Then—

A voice, soft as silk, laced with warmth.

"What is your greatest desire right now?"

Eleanor's awareness drifted in the void, weightless, like she was submerged in deep water. Am I dreaming? Or… is this the afterlife?

A gentle touch grazed her cheek, warm despite the cold abyss that surrounded her. It felt… protective. The voice returned. "What is your greatest desire right now?"

The words held no malice, only kindness. But the water around her remained icy, indifferent.

Her lips parted, though no sound came. She thought carefully.

My greatest desire is… to be with my friends.

A pause. Then, a final whisper.

"Very well."

The warmth faded.

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The faint pop of a bottle cap is followed by a sudden rush of cool water cascading over her face, the droplets splattering in every direction.

Her lashes flutter as the shock of the cold liquid jolts her back to consciousness. Her skin glistens under the water, and a startled gasp escapes her lips as she blinks rapidly, disoriented.

The water drips down her cheeks and neck, pooling slightly on her shirt, while those around her lean in, relief washing over their faces as she begins to stir.

"Hey! She woke up!"

The voice rang familiar, cutting through the haze in her mind. Her surroundings were still a blur, shapes shifting in and out of focus as she tried to make sense of them.

"The fuck were you doing!? We’ve been waiting for half an hour—and it turns out you’re just sleeping like a bum in front of the arcade!"

The second voice—sharp, exasperated. The world finally clicked into place. Neon lights flickered, casting a colorful glow over the pavement. The scent of city air—grease, asphalt, the faint hint of fried food—grounded her senses. And crouched beside her, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, were Mya and Leona.

"Dude. This is hilarious." Leona tossed the now-empty bottle aside, shaking her head as she gave Eleanor a once-over.

"You okay?" Her teasing tone softened into something more worried.

Mya sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "Yeah… Let’s just get you home, okay?"

Eleanor barely heard them. She glanced around, her heart pounding. The streets were alive with movement—passersby throwing them quick glances before moving along, cars honking at the late-night traffic, the arcade buzzing with the shouts and laughter of gamers. The city was exactly as it should be.

She swallowed. What happened back there?

Had it all been a dream? Sleepwalking? A hallucination? It made no sense. There was no logical explanation for any of it.

Then— Leona’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "What’s that glowing thing in your hand?"

Eleanor froze. Her breath hitched as she slowly looked down. The crystal.

The same glowing blue crystal she had clung to in that cathedral. Its light was dimming now, fading as if it had finished its purpose.

A sharp chill ran down her spine.

She swallowed hard, lifting her gaze back to her friends, their faces expectant, confused.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"Y’all are not going to believe what I’m about to say."