t was exactly 1 a.m
The halls of the Rotschy estate stood in absolute silence, the cold moonlight bathing the polished obsidian floors in silver. From behind a heavy mahogany door, a soft creak broke the stillness as Naoko Rotschy emerged.
She stepped out like the breath of midnight itself—elegant, untouchable. Her long, silver hair flowed like liquid starlight down her back, catching the pale glow of the full moon. Her skin, smooth and pale as porcelain, shimmered faintly in the cool night air. Her silver eyes, blank and unreadable, flicked forward with a quiet lethality. Thick, elegant lashes framed her gaze like cold brushes of moonlight. Her lips, tinted with a delicate rose hue, curved with neither joy nor sorrow—simply, existence. A black royal gown adorned her perfect form, hugging her curves with ruthless precision, its flowing fabric embroidered in shadowy lunar thread.
She raised her hand. A pulse of mana twisted the fabric of space. A gate shimmered into being before her, its edges etched in silver flame. Without hesitation, Naoko stepped through.
The world changed.
She emerged in a realm far removed from the rest of the world—a secluded plain bursting with vibrant life. A vast field stretched endlessly, blanketed in glowing blue flowers. They danced with the breeze under the moon's gentle touch, their sapphire petals gleaming like ocean waves under sunlight.
Naoko's silver heels touched the grass with graceful precision as she walked, not a single flower bending beneath her. Her steps were a silent waltz, measured and controlled, a ballet of elegance and dread. The moon poured its light onto her, illuminating her silhouette as though the stars themselves bowed in reverence. Her silver hair mirrored the moon's shine, casting faint glimmers across the field with each movement. She moved as though gravity itself submitted to her.
She paused.
Her gaze fell upon one of the glowing flowers. With a faint flick of her finger, she plucked it through sheer mental command, never once bending. Her voice, cold and soft as winter's breath, broke the silence:
"Moonblossom."
As the flower floated in the air before her, its petals began to shift colors, one after another—red, blue, turquoise green, white, silver, violet, and finally, black. It pulsed with life and memory.
She turned her eyes across the field and spoke again, her voice low, unfazed.
"It took me ten years to build this. Ten years of embedding my mana into every root and petal. There are over twenty thousand moonflowers here—each grown by my own hand."
Her silver lashes lowered slightly. Then she moved again. Dozens of flowers lifted from the soil under the same mental command. One by one, a hundred moonblossoms hovered in the air, each shimmering with ethereal light.
Naoko stood tall—never kneeling, never yielding. The flowers compressed, crushed in the grip of invisible force. Bright, glowing nectar dripped from their mangled forms. With delicate precision, she conjured a glass vial and guided the precious liquid into it. No drop touched the ground. She sealed it with a whisper and vanished it into her spatial vault.
Another gate opened.
This time, the world she entered was stark, empty, and cold—a place where no sound dared exist. Naoko floated upwards slowly, levitating above the barren earth, rising higher and higher until she hovered nearly fifty meters in the air. The moon cast her in divine light. From this height, she was a queen among ruins.
She extended her right hand. The moonlight kissed her pale skin. Her fingers, long and slender, shone like sacred ivory.
Mana swirled around her in chaotic spirals. She drew a three-dimensional spell circle in the air, its spinning runes alive with energy, vibrating with power. The circle surged upward.
A deep, resonating hum echoed across the sky. Darkness swept the land as a shadow fell over the field. Then, a fortress appeared above her.
A floating citadel, monstrous in scale. It shimmered in hues of black and deep violet, its structure both elegant and terrifying. Massive obsidian roots hung from its base like the tendrils of a dying god. A vile aura surrounded it, radiating the promise of destruction.
Naoko raised her voice, barely louder than a breath, but filled with godlike authority:
"Delzjied."
Then she stretched her arm.
"Vinzudonora... come."
Darkness obeyed.
A pulse of jet-black energy rippled through the air. From the underbelly of the citadel, shadows spiraled into form, twisting and condensing into a single point. A flash of silver ran through the black. A weapon descended, wrapped in thick threads of darkness, trailing mana like black flames.
It landed in her waiting hand.
A sword.
Long, gleaming, utterly void of light. Its surface bore silver etchings—the insignia of House rotschy, brilliant and eternal. The blade seemed to drink the moonlight, its presence consuming everything around it.
Vinzudonora
Naoko gripped it easily, like an extension of her will.
With her left hand, she summoned another object.
It was Jin's mana heart.
The core of his being, extracted and crystallized, hovered before her. It pulsed with a kaleidoscope of hues—red, blue, green, white—all the lunar attributes he had once mastered.
Naoko said nothing.
She raised the sword.
A surge of destructive mana coiled around it, a storm of raw obliteration. Then—swift as lightning—she drove it through the mana heart.
The reaction was immediate.
Black mana—thick, tar-like and malicious—spilled into the heart, swirling around it, wrapping it in veins of annihilation. The vibrant colors dimmed, overwhelmed, consumed. The once brilliant heart turned black-red, like smoldering embers deep within a furnace.
Naoko retrieved the glass vial.
She poured the moonflower essence onto the cracked heart with absolute care. Using mental control, she guided every drop perfectly. Not a single droplet was wasted.
The moment the last droplet touched the heart, the crack vanished. The transformation was complete.
The heart was reborn.
No longer vibrant and full of balance—it now radiated heatless fire, crimson and black. A burning omen.
Naoko held it in the air, watching it pulse.
Then, she vanished the blade, and the citadel above her dissipated like a dream.
Her voice was calm and certain.
"Only fifty-nine days left... Jin."
And with that, she opened another gate and stepped through, leaving nothing behind but the soft shimmer of moonlight on the empty air.