In her dreams of Efflorescence, dreamt since she was a child old enough to hear the most wondrous tales from her mother about the magic of the Blossoms, guardians of the world, Triella had imagined the most marvelous of ceremonies, of halls gleaming with lights and spells, none as luminous as the girls inducted into a world of magic and hallowed purpose. They would enter the alabaster halls of the Tower of Rebirth as children and depart as Blossoms, as saviors of the world, as fate-driven warriors of light. As magical girls. 

Triella could scarcely recall a life where she didn’t dream of standing beneath the saintly light shining down from the enchanted glass mosaic at the very top of the Tower, wondering how it would feel to be granted the precious gifts of magic and of sisterhood in the order which had safeguarded the world from time immemorial. Even then, she was all too aware that her imagination would pale before reality.

And yet none here smiled. The lights were dim and in the graven silence there was no merriment to be found, no pride nor joy. This was two years too early, but cruel destiny dictated that this was to be a generation of Blossoms with barely over a year of training and preparation, flowers blooming from the graves of a thousand dead. It had been only a day since they’d heard the news, a tragedy that had felt unreal up until Triella set foot into this very chamber, finding it smaller than in her dreams. With the lights shining down on her, bereft of any warmth or comfort, it hit her that this was reality, that no one would fix this and take it all back.

The battle was won, she had heard from Lady Faustyna’s mirthless voice after being urgently summoned from her dormitory in the Academy, but at too great a cost. The Darklords were killed to the last man, but it was too late to put an end to the ritual at the World-Wound. We had to act, or every single soul in the world would be devoured at once by the Great Nightmare. Instead… Instead our disruption demanded a sacrifice in place of humanity. Our own souls instead. 

All at once, all over the world, the Blossoms were beginning to wither, even those far from the World-Wound, even those who had nothing to do with the campaign against the Darklords. Their Red Rose had not even imagined that those monsters could have schemed such evil as the magical extermination of all humanity, and when those plans were discovered, there was no undoing the ritual in its entirety. Dark magic claimed the soul of almost every single Blossom in the world, leaving no more than a hundred survivors of what had, until the past day, had been tens of thousands.

Lady Faustyna Kitza was known to be a great warrior, but the fear with which she spoke seemed to shrink her until she was little more than a lost, frightened child. The halls of the Academy were all suddenly emptied but for the girls still in training, yet to become Blossoms, and none knew what to do. Only Faustyna had returned from battle, a lone pegasus descending from the skies to the eyrie of Rosa Aeterna Academy. It fell on the few surviving Blossoms to hastily organize this initiation, to replenish their ranks; Triella could tell that Faustyna would have preferred to throw herself from atop the eyrie, but instead she powered through her grief and gathered all the pupils, giving them instructions as best as she could. She was nowhere to be seen in the chamber today. Triella hoped she was alright, but knew that there was no way she could be.

Triella herself couldn’t even feel the moment of her Efflorescence, as she was, body and soul, overwhelmed by grief and terror. The full scale of loss was beyond her comprehension, so instead her mind was consumed by the realization that picking up the pieces of this catastrophe was to be her duty now. It made her want to cry. She had thought herself prepared to bear any responsibility, but this was too much. They were only a few hundred girls, many of whom had only just begun their training. She was part of the crop of 1878, the year of their arrival and the beginning of their tutelage. We are not even the youngest here, she thought. They were but a few hundred girls, none older than sixteen, the fate of the world suddenly thrust upon their shoulders.

By her side, a girl fainted. That was not an uncommon occurrence during the ceremony, as Lady Sieglinde shared improvised words through a pitiful voice in a muted, tearful tone, her eyes red from weeping and her legs trembling. It looked as though she might collapse from the dais, too. Triella couldn’t even process her words, nor did she want to. She wanted to go home.

And then it was done. She was a Blossom now. She realized only when her peers began to scatter, some leaving the chamber to return to the great halls of the Tower, others wandering aimlessly looking for friends or for their instructors. Triella didn’t really feel any different. If there was any change within her, it was either too subtle to tell or it was drowned beneath her more immediate troubles. She had always imagined that this moment would be the threshold between her childhood and the rest of her life, every emotion unforgettable, her body lighter, warmer, as if she was one with the lights. Instead, it was far more subdued, in a way that Triella would have only been able to call disappointing were it not for the great sorrow that brought about this urgency.

I wish my parents were here. I wish my friends were here, too. I wanted them to see it, see me… I wanted to show them I was not so useless after all.

But of course that was but an empty hope. This pain was not only her own, for she knew that, for every girl here, that which should be the happiest moment of their lives, shared with all their loved ones, would amount to no more than words delivered by letter or by Farspeech, though how could this be put into words? How to explain that practically every magical girl in the world had died, when Triella still tried to convince herself that this was a nightmare she was soon to awaken from. I want to go home, she told herself again. Home was back at Altengrie, home was yesterday, home was the life and world that were suddenly gone. Home was that which no longer existed, that desperate longing.

Like so many others, Triella wandered the emptying chamber, hoping to cross paths with someone she knew. At the same time, she avoided looking into the other girls’ eyes, averting her gaze from their expressions of sorrow. Just as she realized she didn’t know where she was going, what it even was that she was actually seeking, she heard someone call her name. Lady Sieglinde herself beckoned for her to approach and join the small crowd gathered around her. Though she was spoken of with great respect due to coming from a long lineage of Blossoms, Sieglinde Imorial was only barely an adult, not even nineteen yet, but suddenly she had become one of the most experienced magical girls still breathing. From up close, however, it seemed that the past day had aged her a great deal. Triella wondered how many of her dearest friends had died. Politeness demanded her to make eye contact, but the sorrow welling up there was too much to bear.

“Triella, you’re here. That’s good,” she said, her voice a pained whisper that demanded effort to comprehend. Some of the other magical girls surrounding Sieglinde were familiar, trainees just like Triella, though she had never grown too close to anyone. She wondered if they would have known her name had Sieglinde not mentioned it. “The others weren’t supposed to leave, I just… Well, I’m not willing to raise my voice in reprimand right now. I assume they’ll return to their quarters at the Academy, so I’ll seek them later.”

Triella just nodded. She wondered just how she would feel if she immediately had to organize such a ceremony and make preparations that used to be the responsibility of dozens if not hundreds of well-trained Blossoms, no more than a day after learning that all her friends had died. Well, Triella didn’t really have many friends, but she could imagine some of that pain anyways.

“Are there any other Blossoms here?” Triella asked, before realizing how foolish she sounded.

“Us,” said Cecilia Kleinfeld, with a hint of sad resignation. Triella wouldn’t call her a friend, but they’d trained together, were of an age, and Cecilia had always seemed polite and pleasant enough. Until she spoke, Triella hadn’t quite recognized her. Before today, Triella had only ever seen Cecilia in her long braids, but haste didn’t afford her such luxuries today. Fidgety, Cecilia wouldn’t stop coiling her white locks with a finger. “Still, I understand what you mean. I asked the same of Lady Sieglinde.”

“Don’t call me Lady,” she insisted. “We are peers now,” when she said it, it almost sounded believable. “Most of the Academy staff is, well… Half a dozen or so remain, though none instructed you. They were all professors, and I have little familiarity with them. Of our Rose Council, only Valchenza remains, so she’ll have to find replacements in short order… Not that she has an abundance of options.”

“I assume you’ll be selected,” said another girl that, of course, Triella wouldn’t fail to recognize; Princess Sayuri of Tawarasato, whose Efflorescence had been held just last year. “You’re reliable, Valchenza will want you. I wonder if she’ll ask for my aid, too.”

“I expect she’s looking for people who are competent,” said a pink-haired girl whose name Triella couldn’t recall, with whom she had never even talked to because even during training she’d always kept to herself. Ise or something, she thought, uncertain. She had always seemed a rather touchy person, with little interest in approaching others. Still, Triella didn’t expect her to be this blatantly hostile.

“I’m sorry?” Princess Sayuri was taken aback. “You look like you hail from Tawarasato as well. Have I done something to offend a fellow countrywoman?”

“You’ve lived when so many others have died who deserve the breath you draw,” she said. Some of the nearby Blossoms stepped back, and even Sieglinde was too devastated to even attempt to defuse the situation. “Someone like you probably doesn’t even comprehend the weight and sacred duty of a Blossom, so why did you live?”

“I have no answer for you,” said the Princess, admirably keeping her calm. “If I have given you any offense in Tawarasato, I apologize. We are peers now, not royalty and subject, so I owe you that much. But do not presume to speak to me about deserving life or death. Sieg, I’ll leave you to your business. My presence here is not welcomed right now.”

Thus, with the grace of a princess, she turned back and walked away before anyone could say anything. Tawarasato was half a world away, but even so Triella had heard some stories about its Princess. A weak-willed girl who meekly withstood any insult, rumored to be so averse to any sort of conflict that she did not even attempt to protest when her younger brother claimed the position of heir apparent claiming gender laws which hadn’t been upheld in Tawarasato for a century. From Triella’s understanding, the whole country was glad when Prince Sayonji did so, as few wanted Sayuri as queen.

“That was ill done, Ise,” said Sieglinde, though without much energy. “She grieves, too.”

“As do we all,” Ise did not back down. “Do not lecture me on pain. The blood between myself and the little Princess is of no one’s concern but the two of us, and she’s happy to flee from it.”

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Triella intervened, hoping to play conciliator, “but we should just ease on the insults. Sieglinde is right, we are all grieving. That should bring us together, not tear us apart. Whatever it was that you lost-”

Ise’s expression, sour enough already, turned positively hateful at those words, and Triella immediately recognized she should have kept her stupid mouth shut. To her credit, despite her initial reaction, Ise restrained herself from violence, but her eyes gave ample evidence of her temptation.

“I don’t care to hear your barking,” said Ise, who began to walk away as her Princess had done, her footsteps heavy with rage. She turned back only for a brief moment, and Triella didn’t dare meet her gaze. “I apologize, Lady Sieglinde. I feel indisposed. We can discuss matters tomorrow, if you please.”

She didn’t wait for an answer. Soon enough, she was gone. Triella didn’t quite understand what that was all about.

“I probably should have stayed quiet,” she said.

“You should have known,” Cecilia said, not without gentleness. “From the look on your face, though, I’m guessing you were never really close to Ise. I don’t blame you, of course, as she cultivated that distance from everyone. Still, surely some rumors must have reached you, right?”

“Not everyone is as well-connected as you are, Cille,” remarked another girl Triella was unfamiliar with. She had the impression that she walked into a gathering far above her social class. “Ise tried to hide it from others when necessary, it was only happenstance that I happened to learn.”

“Learn what?” Triella asked.

“Perhaps her family name will clear things for you. She’s Ise Ubami.”

“Oh.”

Triella really should have kept her silence. Any rube would have at least heard the name Ubami, pride not only of Tawarasato but of the Red Rose. Though in their homeland they were only minor nobility, they traced their lineage from among the very first girls to be chosen for Efflorescence, when the Rose was but a bud, thousands of years ago, handpicked by angels, by kami, by the fae, depending on the story being told. An Ubami who did not bloom to join the Red Rose was quite the rarity, and it was not just their name which earned them their place here but skill proven time and time again.

“Did… Did anyone survive?” Triella asked. Sieglinde’s expression was enough of an answer, but Triella still found it hard to comprehend. “Surely someone had to be spared…”

“Perhaps a distant cousin,” said Sieglinde with a shrug. “We are yet to confirm every loss and every survivor. But… Well, we expect we would have heard something. Both of her aunts have died, and her mother as well. And all her sisters. Her direct cousins, too, and a niece who had joined our Rose earlier this year. She suffers for them all, but she was closest to Kasumi, inseparable until the elder began her training to become a Blossom. Ise is difficult at the best of times, always preferring to train by herself, but I can hardly blame her for how she is now. I wish I could do something for her, but… But there’s so few of us now, I cannot spare the time to comfort her, if she would even accept my company.”

Triella didn’t know what to say. She wanted to apologize, to say she understood, but it all seemed entirely meaningless now. The notion that any comfort could be offered was laughable. That Ise did not seem to have recently wept appeared unbelievable to Triella.

I’m sorry everyone you know is dead. I know what it’s like to be all alone like that. As though that was any help, as though it would mean anything to Ise. As if pains could ever truly be equivalent. 

Mercifully, Sieglinde suggested they all meet in her office after eating, to discuss their immediate future. Triella wanted a moment to compose herself, because, like Ise, she did not want to cry in front of anyone. Cecilia invited her to eat together, which Triella accepted, but always she lingered some paces behind the group of girls leading the way, as they reached the Hall of Founders, where visitors to the Tower were greeted by the sheer immensity of the hall and the three towering statues of the three girls who planted the seed of the Red Rose when the world was yet young and even darker than it was now. Triella had thought that she would feel small when she set foot there, but somehow, devoid of life, the emptiness did not make the Hall appear larger but far smaller than it truly was. Life and light revealed its true grandeur, and now those were gone.

This is where they would have seen me, Triella thought, unsure if what she felt was bitterness or melancholy. This is where I always dreamt I would see the smiling faces of my family, all proud of me. Even amidst the crowd I always recognized them. Those had only ever been dreams, of course, but their kindness had saved her life time and again. But perhaps it was not now that her dreams were stolen from her.

Perhaps it was when she was but a child, when she witnessed hellfire, red skies, her world coming undone. Somehow she could only remember the smallest parts of that day. The flowing blood, a hint of the stench of smoke, the neighboring house ablaze. She recalled it more clearly than her own home. Clearest of all, though, was the Blossom that found her, saved her, carried her. I was born that day, she sometimes thought. She never learned the name of the girl that had saved her. Most of all she recalled the relieved smile that she’d offered Triella, happy to have been able to find someone amidst the dead.

Triella wondered if that Blossom had withered, too. She hastened her steps, to join the others, and silenced the child’s voice inside her. For a foolish little girl like her, it was better not to think at all.