Rose peered up at the black sky, shivering in the cold, violet sunlight. "Drat, not again," she complained. "I don't even remember falling asleep!"

She looked around, spotting the same mountain range in the distance, still looking like a row of teeth. In retrospect, that was probably symbolic of something, this place being the metaphorical stomach of a dream eater.

This time, though, she only had one shadow.

"Where are you hiding?" she muttered, looking around, but there was no sign of any extraneous shadows or any other sign of monsters in the vicinity.

"Apparently this one has had some upgrades..."

As she looked around, a touch of fear slipped in, and she wondered how she was supposed to escape this time.

---

Grace winced as a maid behind her tugged on the laces of her corset, trying to eke out one last fraction of an inch and leaving her with the distinct feeling that her kidneys were being squeezed into her legs.

"Does it have to be so tight?" she complained, but without much hope.

"Don't be such a wuss," snapped the awful lady that served as her etiquette teacher, fanning herself with what Grace knew full well to be an instrument of pain cunningly disguised as a fan. The makeshift weapon hid her face, but Grace imagined a sneer. "This is your wedding. You must present yourself as a proper lady."

"Proper ladies are well known for breathing," grumbled Grace, who was struggling somewhat in that area.

"You can obviously breathe more than well enough if you're able to waste breath on that sort of sarcastic comment," continued the lady, who Grace observed wasn't wearing a corset at all. "Now, let's move onto the dress, and then we can do your hair and makeup."

Another pair of maids brought in a white, flowing dress, the train long enough to stretch from one end of the room to the other. Floral embroidery decorated its front, picked out in a white that was little different from the dress, but gleaming in the light. Grace had to admit it was beautiful, but that was all it was. The ultimate example of form over function; needlessly expensive, fragile, and taking a team of workers a full hour to get her into or out of it. Goddess forbid that she should need the toilet in the middle of proceedings.

The stupid woman would probably tell her that proper ladies didn't need to pee or poop. Except she would never use words as vulgar as 'pee' or 'poop', despite being perfectly happy with 'wuss'. Grace had a strong suspicion she was just making it all up as she went along.

Nevertheless, as they applied the dress to her body and started braiding and decorating her hair, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She had to admit she looked good. A perfect fairytale bride. Rose would probably be jealous; Grace thought it cute how she wanted to put herself through this sort of torture simply for the novelty value, to try it out and see what she looked like.

The smile vanished.

Rose? Who was that? Why did the name spring to mind so naturally?

"Is something wrong, ma'am?" asked the maid who had been powdering her face.

Grace looked at her, not sure she should be trusting that particular maid with her makeup, given that the maid's own had somehow managed to make her face look slightly blurred.

"No, nothing's wrong. I just... remembered... something?"

"Stay focused," ordered her teacher, face still hidden behind her fan. "You don't have time today to engage in silliness."

Grace looked back at her reflection in the mirror, unable to shake the feeling she was missing something important.

---

Rrillandral tried to hold in the rising horror as she watched the Vale of Myllearn burn, elves running a desperate battle against the demons, but nevertheless forced to retreat from tree to tree. The demons were simply too many and too powerful. She'd failed in her mission to keep the flames of war away from her homeland.

Truthfully, it wasn't the flames of war that were the issue. Fire was a natural part of life. It brought not only death, but rebirth. New plants would grow where the old burnt.

No, the issue was the miasma the demons brought with them. If it spread through the Vale, if it infected the Heart, the Vale would become a second demonic forest. The homeland of the elves, along with all who dwelt there, lost forever. Such was the true reason why keeping the demons out was so important.

And it was her fault. She'd convinced her father to let a [Hero] shelter here, knowing the risks. The demons had come hunting the [Hero], and then they'd seen the bigger prize. Now they were here in force to seize it.

She leant on her [Stealth], conducting skilful assassinations against the demons she was sure she could take out with her knife, but for each one she killed, two more turned up.

"The demons must not taint the Heart of the Vale," boomed the magically enhanced voice of her father, echoing throughout the forest, as heavy and serious as she had ever heard him speak. "I command you to fight to the last. Should you fail, I shall destroy the Heart."

Rrillandral gasped. Destroying the heart would be the end of the elves. Which, admittedly, was better than the fate that would await them should it be corrupted by demons. She redoubled her efforts, but the demons just kept coming. How could there be so many of them left when Grace had...

The question died unfinished in Rrillandral's mind as a new, more important question rose unbidden.

Who was Grace?

---

Kellela peered into her mirror, adjusting her robe, then sighed as she made her way the considerable distance to the front door. Sometimes, she wondered why she had such a pointlessly large house all to herself, but she could afford it, along with the occasional team of cleaners to keep it in good condition, and moving was a hassle. At least she had it ready in case she ever found the chance to start the family that she always wanted.

She stepped outside, taking a few seconds to bask in the sunshine and deciding she would walk to work. Take the small amount of time she could to enjoy the pleasant weather before she shut herself away indoors and missed the rest of it.

Rumah Magika was the most prestigious institute of magical research in the kingdom. Of that, there could be no doubt. It may well be the best on the continent, although to that claim, some other kingdoms might object. That didn't change the fact that it was boring. Day after day, she sat at the same desk, poring over texts and experimental results, before suggesting theories and new experiments.

It wasn't at all what she wanted. She wanted to be the one using the magic, running the experiments. But that simply wasn't where her strengths lay. She was better at the paperwork, while other mages were more talented at the practical aspects. Thus she was assigned paperwork.

If only something big would happen. Something to shake up this boring, repetitive schedule. As it was, all she had to look forward to was getting home, throwing off her robe and diving into bed with Hayedalf, where they could...

She stopped, gripped with confusion. Who was Hayedalf?

Her eyes were aimed at the text in front of her—some treatise on a failed attempt at 'healing' ageing—but they weren't focused on it. Instead, she stared at nothing as she pondered. Why did she live in such a large home on her own?

---

Hayedalf sat in a room of his tower, surrounded by ingots of magical metals, branches of rare woods, various crystals and gems, and haphazard stacks of scales, fangs, organs and other body-parts taken from monsters. Bottles of fluids were set on untidy shelves.

Everything was untidy. How many days had it been since he'd last left the room? He spared a second to glance at the pile of dirty plates that was building up in one corner. It was probably time to clear them again, but he was so close. He knew it. It had taken so much time, but he was finally on the verge of the creation of an Artefact.

Any day now.

Hopefully.

He sighed, well aware he had been thinking similar things on and off for the past year. It was just so frustrating; all the effort he'd put into reaching the pinnacle of enchantment without success when that bloody elvish king had just clicked his fingers and bestowed Mystery with...

He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. Perhaps it was time to sleep? After all, what sort of ridiculous name was Mystery? As if he knew anyone so unfortunate as to have parents who would name their child that.

---

Mystery hovered in the darkness, adrift in an empty sea. None of her senses showed anything in any direction. Just an endless void. It wouldn't even make sense to call it black; there was nothing to be black.

"... Hello...?" she called telepathically, but [Telepathy] found nothing to interact with.

Nevertheless, there came an answer. The edges of the void flickered with colour, seemingly coming from an infinite distance. Colours that held meaning.

"Order decays."

"... What...?"

"All will fall to chaos."

"... Is someone... there...?"

ding
For talking to yourself, [Telepathy] advances to level 20.

"Death is inevitable."

ding
For translating the echoes of chaos, [Translate] advances to level 11.

"Well, someone's a real downer..." she thought to herself, wondering where everyone else was. She hadn't been away from her body for long enough to put herself in danger, but being apart from Kellela still made her nervous. Particularly since she had no idea how she'd ended up in this strange place.

"You shall perish, as all those before you have perished. I shall grow, as I have always done."

Ignoring the unhelpful voice, she pondered her situation. They'd found the egg of the demon lord, and Grace had attacked it. And then she was here. Those two things didn't seem to link up. Surely something must have happened in between?

"Light fades. Darkness grows. When the stars expire, what will be left beyond me?"

"Sheesh, you're talking like some sort of end boss," complained Mystery. "... Wait."

"How long can the inevitable be fought? How long can the gods of order battle the end of all things?"

"You are the end boss! Don't tell me this is one of those situations where everyone got sucked into their own little worlds where they need to prove their love and friendship to escape? Are you really that cliché?"

ding
For viewing the available evidence and drawing a conclusion, [Investigation] advances to level 8.

"Yup, apparently it is."

"Order decays."

"Dammit. Not only a cliché, but the bloody thing is on a loop! Those girls better hurry up," metaphorically huffed Mystery, not believing for a second that her chosen magical girls would fail to escape this trap.

---

Rose pondered. "Now, how did I get out last time? I stabbed the shadow, but for a while, I didn't even notice it. Maybe something similar is happening this time? What happened to let me notice it?"

She thought carefully, remembering the running and the fear. The despair that turned out not to have been her own. The first time she'd felt something was wrong, when she'd felt that dampness on her forehead.

"Grace's tears," she muttered, before blinking. "Wait. Who's Grace?"

She thought some more, remembering a feeling of abandonment, and how it turned out to be rubbish. How a part of her memories had been rendered inaccessible. How she could remember the fear of being left alone, but not the perfectly legitimate reason for it.

"Is Grace... someone important to me? Someone this place is trying to make me forget? Then do I need to remember her to get out?"

She crossed her arms and sat on the floor, frowning with concentration as she picked over her recent memories. What had she been doing before she ended up here?

She was... adventuring? In her party, with her parents? That didn't sound right. She looked down, noticing that she was wearing her old gear. Lightweight leather armour, perfect for an [Apprentice Swordsman].

She felt something wrong again. That faint sense of incongruity. Why did she think this gear was old? Her parents had only just bought it for her, ready to train her in the demonic forest. When would she have had the opportunity to replace it with anything else?

"But if that was the case, why do I remember this place? When was I trapped here before?"

Alas, while Mystery trusted in Rose, Rose didn't even remember Mystery existed. Still, she was trying her best. If there was one steadfast rule about magical girls—even magical girls who had forgotten they were magical girls—it was that they didn't give up.