A/N: Okay, I think it's time to pick up the pace. After this chapter, things will move faster and faster until the end of this first volume.
I'm not entirely satisfied with the last chapter, but I figured it might make sense to keep it if I continue writing, and try giving it meaning.
***
"Where should we begin?" Serena murmured, her voice low and thoughtful, as though the weight of centuries pressed against her words. She fell silent for a moment, her gaze distant, before a faint smile softened her features.
"Perhaps," she said at last, "we should begin with the plague that has long haunted our world… the Lament."
The Lament — that was the name humanity had given to the cycle of ruin that had shadowed Solaris-3 since time immemorial.
For ten thousand years, five global and countless regional Laments had swept across the planet, each one a storm of extinction that reshaped the face of the world.
In their wake remained the Waveworn Phenomena — strange, haunting echoes of catastrophe, the scars of reality itself left trembling in sorrow.
From those ashes rose the Threnodians — beings forged of despair and bound to the grief of humankind.
They were born from the darkness within the human soul, and their coming was marked by Tacet Discords, the cataclysms that shattered cities and silenced hope.
Yet where darkness rises, light refuses to fade. Standing against the Threnodians were the Sentinels — immortal watchers at the edge of civilization, who had endured since before the first Lament.
They were prophets and guardians, the keepers of memory and flame, guiding humanity through ages of loss.
But salvation could not always come from above. Through the very curse that had once destroyed them, humanity found strength.
From the chaotic residue of the Waveworn Phenomena emerged the Resonators — rare souls altered by the energies of the Lament itself. Empowered by the forces that once sought to end them, they became humanity's answer to its own despair.
Under the leadership of the first Resonator, humankind rose once more, building fortresses thought impenetrable — bastions of light amidst the endless storm.
Yet even behind their mighty walls, the old fractures endured. Those left beyond, and those who remained human in body but monstrous in heart, carved out their own paths.
Some sought to heal.
Others hungered to rule.
And so, in the shadow of salvation, new divisions were born — and the story of Solaris-3 began anew.
Kurian listened closely as his mother's voice wove the tale, his mind intrigued by the notion of humans wielding powers beyond comprehension.
But gradually, the light in his eyes dimmed. A chill ran through him as a grim realization took hold. 'This world… it's far more dangerous than I imagined.'
Initially, he believed that only the Sentinels stood at the summit of might. Yet hearing of the Lament, the Waveworn Phenomena, the Threnodians, and most importantly; the Resonators, made his own triumphs feel painfully insignificant.
It was the Resonators who struck the deepest chord within him — not with awe, nor fear, but with envy. 'If only we'd possessed such powers… could we have fought together once more, my comrades?'
Memories of his fallen comrades stirred — men and women who had fought at his side, who had bled and laughed and shared the same unshakable resolve. In their final battle against Baal, he had ordered them to stay behind.
Not out of pride or fear, but out of a misguided sense of protection. He had thought he was sparing them pain.
Yet now he saw the truth: he had been selfish. He had robbed them of the chance to fight alongside him, of the honor to stand and fall together.
'Perhaps they would have wept less had I let them fight…' he thought bitterly. 'Perhaps they would have smiled, even in death, if only they could have shared that final battle.'
The memory weighed heavily upon him. His chest tightened, and his vision blurred. 'I wish… I wish I could have fought beside you all again.'
"Don't cry!"
The words echoed in his mind, a phantom of the past—his teacher's voice, stern yet kind. "In this world, no one belongs to anyone, Ferdinand. We are but strangers who linger in each other's minds as guests."
Then another fragment rose from memory, soft and distant, a verse once whispered in quiet reflection: "Love's attachment while living, a faint afterimage after death — life is but a mirror's shadow."
At that moment, Serena noticed the dampness spreading across his pillow. "Kurian? What's wrong?" she asked gently.
Without a word, he turned toward her, burying his face in her chest as he whispered, "I'm sorry."
"W-what?" she stammered, confusion flickering across her face.
"I promise," he murmured, voice trembling, "I won't cry the next time… just let me cry this once."
Serena hesitated, uncertain of his pain, but then she cupped his face and met his eyes. "No one will stop you," she said softly. "If you wish to cry… then cry to your heart's content."
Kurian's breath hitched. His eyes quivered, glistening with tears as Serena pulled him close, holding him as though he were something fragile and precious.
And for the first time in ages, he let himself weep — each tear a confession of the regret that had hollowed him out. He had thought he was right to face Baal alone with Catastros, and... his adoptive daughter, Audrey, but now he knew the truth.
It had never been about strength. It had been about camaraderie, about the trust, about the bonds they had forged in the fire of battle.
And he had broken that bond in the name of a deceptive selfish protection, denying them the chance to fight by his side.
Looking at his mother, frail yet resilient, he finally understood another lesson: the pain of being denied the chance to help, to stand beside those you care for, is a sorrow that lingers far longer than any wound.
And it was this woman, this quiet, steadfast soul who now held him, who taught him what no war ever could — that even the strongest hearts are allowed to break, if only to remember what it means to be human.
But soon, a memory of his old teacher surfaced, whispering to him: "Fine, you may cry today, but promise me this, that you will never cry for the same reasons again moving on."
Acknowledging both his mother's and his teacher's words, Kurian nodded, whispering weakly, "Understood."
***
In a world finally liberated from the demons that had ravaged the land, a young woman tended to an old stallion, her eyes tender and her smile gentle.
"It's a shame that you're reaching your end, Catastros," she whispered, her voice tinged with restrained sorrow.
The stallion exhaled, trying in its own way to appear as vigorous as ever, but Audrey shook her head softly. "You don't have to pretend."
As if understanding her words, the black stallion lowered its gaze, almost embarrassed, and she could do nothing but sigh.
Her hand hovered above its old wounds, and a strange, warm light enveloped them both. Slowly, the effects of time and injury seemed to ease. Watching the stallion heal, a pang of longing stirred in her chest. 'If only I could have been there…'
Just then, a voice called out.
"Audrey."
She turned, immediately bowing with practiced courtesy to a man who appeared to be in his late fifties. "Field Marshal, Sir Giovanni."
Giovanni gestured for her to rise, his tone gentle yet commanding. "No need for such formality, Lady of House Schumann."
At the mention of the name, Audrey's jaw tightened involuntarily. 'Schumann…' The name brought memories she would rather forget — memories of her shameless adoptive father, "Ferdinand Franz Schumann."
Before the fight with Baal, Ferdinand had denied her plea to accompany him, despite Audrey's firm belief that she was a destined warrior, and her presence would be necessary.
When she disobeyed his orders, Ferdinand simply unsheathed his swords and, with words sharp as nails, and heavy like iron, challenged her to a duel to silence her.
The contest was one-sided. He bested her in every way — physically, mentally, and emotionally — leaving no doubt of her defeat, and she had fainted in the aftermath.
Then, as if mocking all propriety, he had the shameless audacity to hand her adoption papers, declaring them his final wishes should he fall in the battle against Baal.
Audrey was an orphan who was taken in by the military, and over the years she had grown close to Ferdinand, seeing in him a father figure. Yet, she had never voiced it, afraid that expressing her feelings might disturb him.
But when she realized that Ferdinand had harbored the same longing — to have her as his daughter — and had instead chosen to silently present the adoption form as his final gesture, a surge of resentment welled inside her.
Yet, perhaps because she was still young and respected him too much, she had signed the documents, begrudgingly it may have been.
Now, seated in a quiet café on one of the bustling streets of Elysium — the second fortress humanity had built after driving away Baal's forces — Audrey's curiosity broke through her thoughts.
"Sir Giovanni," she asked cautiously, "how long had he had those documents?"
Giovanni's eyes hardened, weighing whether to reveal the truth. He knew that hiding it would only fuel her anger, and perhaps the truth would bring understanding, even if it stung.
"You see," he began, his voice steady, "when you first awakened with your powers, everyone saw you as a messiah… a destined hero, including me. But Ferdinand… he saw something different."
"He saw someone delicate, and lovable…" Giovanni said, his voice quiet and contemplative, eyes distant as if recalling a memory long held. "In this world where everyone wanted you to be their hero. He wanted you to be his daughter."
Up to this point, Audrey had felt a storm of anger, but alongside it came a profound sorrow. "I… I see," she whispered, her voice trembling, almost breaking. "Why was he like that?"
"Military standards," Giovanni murmured, the mention of Ferdinand leaving a faint, bitter taste in his mouth. "His teacher drilled them into him from the very beginning."
Audrey hiccupped, sniffling as she struggled to speak. "You know, Sir Giovanni…" Her voice wavered, almost broken. "I once dreamed of having each of my hands held, one by Father Ferdinand and the other… by a loving mother."
She brushed away her tears, the loss settling heavier on her chest. "Too bad, father never married any woman." Then, with curiosity mingled with sadness, she asked. "Was that… because of his teacher too?"
Giovanni remained silent, but his silence was enough for an answer. Audrey's chest tightened, and a deep sadness welled within her. "Just… why couldn't he live according to his own heart?" she whispered to herself.
"Iron Guardian of the Sanctuary, my ass," she muttered, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Was his heart… also simply molded like iron? Shaped by the doctrines his teacher forced him to follow?"
"He had always held his teacher in high regard," Giovanni began, his voice steady but tinged with reflection, "it was his teachings that shaped him, made him strong. But…"
He paused, eyes hardening, voice sharpening with annoyance. "I never liked how those teachings had always controlled Ferdinand's choices."
'I wish someone had existed whom he was willing to place above his teacher,' Giovanni thought bitterly, a pang of regret lingering in his chest.
***
"What are you doing?" Serena's voice echoed through the dim basement of the old, crumbling house, carrying both confusion and mild alarm.
Kurian froze mid-motion, caught in a pose so strange it looked like he was attempting to wrestle with gravity itself. One leg was bent awkwardly, his torso twisted at an impossible angle, arms hovering in midair as if he'd been sculpted mid-fall.
Serena blinked, bewildered by the sight before her.
'What timing,' Kurian thought grimly.
He had been doing squats, trying to build strength in his legs and core, knowing how much his fighting style relied on balance and footwork.
But the moment he'd heard the door creak open, a jolt of panic had run through him, and he'd lost his rhythm — freezing halfway through the movement like a child caught stealing from the pantry.
Now, with Serena staring at him, he could only stay frozen in that ridiculous pose, his face burning with embarrassment as a muddle of thoughts swirled in his head, 'Why do I feel embarrassed to exercise before her?'
A/N: I swear, working out at home feels like playing FNAF irl 😭, and when your parents catch you, it's exactly that kind of jump-scare feeling.
Just as Kurian struggled to find his words, Serena tilted her head and asked, half-amused, "Are you… dancing?"
"Uh… yes?" he replied uncertainly.
"If you wish to dance," she said, critiquing his posture, "you must be able to transition yourself to the next step." Her tone softened slightly as she added, "Never set yourself in a position where you can no longer move to the next step."
She demonstrated her graceful steps, and as Kurian followed her guidance, his sharp eyes couldn't help but catch the subtle rhythm in the way she transitioned so smoothly from one movement to the next.
Her dance carried an effortless elegance — a natural, fluid grace that seemed to flow with every breath she took.
Kurian's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, curiosity flickering in his mind. 'Was she perhaps a performer once?'
He recalled her melodic voice from the day before, and now, coupled with her instinctive sense of rhythm, he couldn't help but picture her graceful figure in motion, each gesture accompanied by drifting musical notes that seemed to move in harmony with her.
To be continued...