Six gruelling hours dragged by. My eyes and feet felt like they had journeyed a hundredfold, a thousandfold—all for Leanne, no, Isabelle's life. Yet, every corner I scoured remained unnervingly peaceful. Mothers strolled with their children below, workers filed into their routines, even couples walked hand-in-hand, enjoying their trysts. I judged them through the lens of my own world and merit, where those sacred values had vanished. No more would they kneel before the Gidden, offering blessings and thanks. Oh, Lady, how long had my people in this time forsaken you?

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Suddenly, a throb lanced through my skull, a sharp pain that felt like the weight of a thousand unspoken worries pressing in. By instinct, my hand reached for the back of my neck, hoping to massage the ache away. But the pain, relentless and cold, migrated forward, squeezing my brow in a vice. The familiar chant of the Cure spell danced on my lips, but a groan escaped me, silencing it. How could this pain be real? Was it age creeping in, stealing my twenty-nine years with cruel efficiency? No, that was undoable. The passage of time had not yet dared to touch my youthful vigour.

Now, the hall fell silent. Thank the Gidden, nobody came across my slight act of shame.

Until…

“Hey, miss,” the woman’s voice called me from behind. “Are you okay?”

As my head turned behind, a woman with olive skin and dark hair, dressed in a tailored suit, crossed her arms and tilted her head in concern. Her lips pursed in worry, perhaps feeling the storm brewing within me. With a hesitant touch, she tapped my shoulder, a silent touch to calm my head. Yet looking closer to her face, I blanched and jumped back, for she was one of the Arenians, those once-despicable races no different to the Norsian savages.

My casting hand tempted me to draw my blade, yet seeing her with no arms and armour stifled my faint instinct. Future, a thought recalled my mind, all the while doubts over her harmless look waned. A blade on her back would have brought me a thousand shames if the eyes of society had caught on to it.

“S-Should I call her?” asked the Arenian woman, her melodic voice sounding crisp and pulsating.

I gasped, “Call who?”

“Miss Aya,” she answered. “Ayako Kinbara.”

“Who are you anyway?” I asked.

“I’m the owner of this apartment. Madam Funda’s my name,” she replied, pointing at a golden name tag on her right breast, then lowered her voice. “Miss Aya already told me that you’re going undercover as one of my supervisors, correct?”

Hearing her words deemed no malice, my pain slowly wore out, granting me a sigh of relief. And a sigh boosted the speed of natural cure. At last, I could breathe at a normal pace.

“Yes,” I nodded. “All on behalf of… Leanne’s life.”

“Right, because I’m asking you why you entered her room a while ago.”

Huh?

“What?”

“Why? Haven’t you remembered?”

Her odd questions prickled at my scepticism. No memory bloomed from my awakening, despite six vigilant hours etched in my memory. Neither intoxication nor drowsiness blurred my senses. Yet, thrice I traversed floors above and below my post, creating a gap for those cowled ones to slip past.

But how? What sorcery could they unleash without outward disturbance?

“Could it be?”

Doubt morphed into suspicion when a thought of apes slithered into my mind. Though none graced my eyes, they could sway over others of common blood, weaving illusions of their own visage. Could these hooded figures employ such apery?

“Let us hurry before it is late!”

* * *

So we ran, rushing towards Leanne’s living room, lest the time might tell her fate soon or late.

I stepped forth in front of the door—same door once we walked her into. Before knocking the door, Funda gave me a tap on my shoulder, whispering, “Don’t rush, young lass. Act like a supervisor.”

“How?”

Showing how it must be done, Funda stepped past me and pressed the small disc beside the knob. Then a melodic echo rang from behind the door, perhaps waking Leanne up from her doze. Not really, though, but how I wished it must be true.

“Ma’am!” cried Funda. “Your rent! It has been a month!”

Then the silence still answered, but a susurrus within could be heard from within. Too late, I knew, yet there should be a chance to reclaim her safety once more.

“Be prepared, Miss,” Funda murmured. “And I advise you to hide yourself at the side.”

And so I did, tucking myself into the shadows beside Funda. My heart hammered against my ribs as the creaking door revealed a woman bathed in pale light. Her eyes, narrowed and sharp, scanned the room before settling on Funda. My breath hitched. This was not Ayako—despite sharing similar features—nor was it even Leanne. The smile plastered on her face was a poor imitation of Leanne's genuine warmth, a cruel mockery. Such a spell might steer her eyes, but not mine.

“Bonjour, madame. But can you give us… three days?”

Funda’s eyes squinted, casting obvious doubts over her, “Us, eh? I don’t remember registering a roommate prior to this time.”

The aping woman gasped, walking slightly aback. Her gait betrayed a flicker of doubt, though her face remained a mask of resolve.

Subduing her, I cast my blade and lunged forward. My arm clamped around her jaw, muffling any scream for ‘help’. Her gasp touched my arm. The cold steel kissed her throat, sending tremors through her frame. Her widened eyes mirrored the terror of my ultimatum.

“Where is your friend, Fareastern lass?” I asked her with a murmuring threat. “Pray, do tell with either your pointing finger or slinking feet.”

Then an aping woman ushered us into the chamber, her gaze fixed on the open bathroom door. My eyes locked on her free hands; moving an inch could grant her a small thrust into the throat. As we drew closer, the metallic tang of steaming iron—rather, blood—filled my nostrils. Chill and guilt sent shivers down my spine, for I was too late to shield her from bloody torment. Two shimmering figures shifted within, one moving behind the threshold. Knowing the trap, I tightened my grip on the sword, my eyes then shifted on the hidden form. Each step felt measured, a macabre dance orchestrated by fate, leading one of us to their final curtain call. But who would it be? Not me, of course, for my tale remains unfinished.

Even if it means the time would reject it.

Even if it means a disgrace to my royal gallantry.

Even if it means… walking headlong into the trap.

So, I did, and lo and behold, another pale woman emerged, her gun aimed coldly at us. But thanks to her friend serving as a shield, her grip faltered, betraying a tremor of fear. Then I cast a short crossbow, the bolt finding its mark—her gun hand. It clattered to the floor, followed by a shriek of pain as blood welled from her wound. A bloody pang brought her knees to the floor, enduring as much as she could.

Meanwhile, a lass, shielding me for a braid, now elbowed me aside. My blade flashed, nicking only her throat, drawing a gasp and a hand to the bleeding wound. In a desperate act, she drew her own gun, but her dying grip sent the shot wild. Thank the heavens, she swayed precariously, close to death's embrace. With grim resolve, I bowed my bust down, then cast my javelin and hurled it, the point finding its mark in her abdomen, adding another crimson stain to the chamber's macabre tapestry.

“Ahhh,” another hand-shot woman cried. Her eyes shed a bit of tears whilst staring at her dying companion.

Meanwhile, I spun towards Leanne, fear coiling in my gut. The sight that greeted me was a tapestry of agony. Puncture wounds bled like crimson tears down her pale skin. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, mirrored the terror that gnawed at me. Sealed lips, bound limbs—a silent scream trapped within her. Her head lolled, fragile as a wilting flower, reflecting the frailty of her essence. Only her chest, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs, clung desperately to this world. Guilt, a bitter tang on my tongue, choked my breath. Was I too late? Or was there still time to save her?

No matter, I must seek her help at once.

I pulled the grey seal out of her mouth, “Are you all right, Leanne?”

Then her gasp became deeper and heavier, hoping her soul would cling still to the flesh.

“I… Je… suis… at my last.”

Aiding her, I stripped my coat and cut them into swathes, then wrapped every wound and tied it lock, blocking its bleed. Many wounds, I had to make it, but alas, the weave of her soul now began to wear thinner and thinner, her eyes dilating even bigger.

“Hold right there! You are not going to leave the world yet!”

Yet, her body screamed the opposite. Her breaths came in ragged bursts, each one a desperate fight for survival. Panic clawed at my throat as I raced to bind her wounds, the sheer number of them overwhelming. My hands, slick with sweat, trembled with the weight of my sheer determination. My gaze flicked between the crimson blossoms blooming on her skin and the determined glint in my own eyes. A wave of qualms threatened to rise, but I pushed it down, the primal urge to save her overriding all else. I had to make it… make it… make it.

But, soon alas, her final breath hitched, a fragile gasp swallowed by the encroaching darkness. Her once-vibrant eyes, now open and wide, stared sightlessly into the distance. The frantic drumbeat of her chest, a desperate fight for life, sputtered into a faint whisper, then stilled into an agonising silence. My hands, stained crimson and trembling with the echo of a thousand frantic motions, cradled her lifeless form. Grief, so sharp and suffocating, washed over me, strangling my lungs. My eyes shed tears, blurring my vision of hope.

This could not be… it should not be.

“No… no…. No!”

Thus, here I was, crying whilst ceasing my pointless aid. Standing still, clenching my fists—that was all I could do. How pathetic I felt, serving only pity and sorrow before her lifeless body.

All of the deaths I had seen throughout the battlefields of the past and writs against the bandits, why was I wailing for her? No, she was one of the sinful wenches, throwing away all of her pure beauty towards myriad cocks and gazes. We were not even friends. Just two souls bound by a sole shared tale. Yet, why did her loss sting so deeply?

Perhaps…. Truly, my trust upon Ayako and Ana was now laid to waste.

A sudden crack echoed through the chamber, the bullet finding its mark on Leanne's already lifeless form. My head, nestled against her chest in a desperate attempt to mend the wounds that claimed her, grazed the searing projectile. I whipped around, finding the hand-shot woman aiming her gun at me, her face contorted in a mask of fury. Her finger tightened on the trigger, but only a click met my ears—even twice with her frustrated tongue. With a guttural growl, she hurled the useless weapon to the ground.

“Fuck,” she fumed, then slowly stood up from the ground. “Bitch, I’ll tie you up for good… make you squeal like a pig and—”

With all of my sudden will and hate, I cast a dagger and struck through her bloody cunt. Gladdened, it bled more than a mere drip of flower’s bloom. Hearing her screech, squealing like a pig, felt more melodic to my ears than mine. Yet, in the end, it pierced my ears, leaving a ringing emptiness in their wake.

Shutting her up, I then thrusted into her throat, no more tormenting my ears. My blade alone would bid her soul to join the waltz amidst the abyss. Not even a heavenly drop of water would dare to save their begging soul.

Hell… I could only describe.

And all I had now was a reek of fresh blood and sight of dead corpses—even Leanne’s.

Looking behind, Funda merely stared at us, frozen over the bloody scent and scene.

“Pardon me, Madam, for it was helpless.”