Ceres walked down the long, crystalline corridor of the palace. Behind her, the chaos of the funeral hall was fading, replaced by an eerie silence.
She passed a group of maids who had been sobbing only moments ago. Now, they were giggling, adjusting their holographic uniforms. One of them paused, looking at her black lace handkerchief with a puzzled expression.
"Why is this wet?" the girl asked her companion.
"I don't know," the other replied, indifferent. "Maybe you spilled some tea? Come on, let's go watch the coronation broadcast."
Ceres kept walking, her face a mask of cold stone. The Law of Oblivion was accelerating. Soon, the intervals of forgetting would shrink from minutes to seconds. People would forget the beginning of a sentence before they reached the end. The world was dissolving into a perpetual, mindless "Now."
She stepped out onto the Grand Balcony, where the artificial neon wind whipped her black liquid dress around her legs. The toxic clouds below churned in purple and gold, a beautiful graveyard for the memories of the world.
"It's a beautiful view for a dying world, isn't it?"
A voice, deep and vibrating with suppressed power, came from the shadows of the massive pillars.
Ceres didn't flinch. She had known he was there. She had scented the ozone of static electricity and the ancient sulfur of dragon fire long before he spoke.
A man stepped into the pale gold light. He was a head taller than her, clad in dark, battle-worn leather armor that seemed to swallow the neon glow. His messy black hair framed a face that was devastatingly handsome yet terrifying. His most striking feature was the dark gold dragon scales dusting his high cheekbones, and his eyes—pupils that were vertical slits of molten fire.
Metis. The Dragon King.
"I don't remember inviting the Lord of the Asteroid Belt to our 'Emperor's' funeral," Ceres said, turning to face him. Her voice was calm, but her heart beat faster. Not from fear, but from calculation. Here is my prey.
Metis narrowed his eyes. He looked at Ceres—at her arrogant stance, her golden eyes, and the way she looked at him as if he were a bug under a microscope.
A sharp, piercing pain stabbed through his temples. His memory logs were a mess of static. He knew he was here for a reason. He knew he was searching for something. But when he looked at this woman, the void in his mind screamed.
"I don't need an invitation to walk through ruins," Metis growled. He moved with a predator's grace, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat.
He caught her wrist—the one still bound by the laser-crystal handcuffs. His grip was iron-hot. "Who are you?" he hissed. "My instinct tells me to kill you, but my blood... it tells me to kneel."
Ceres didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned in, her scent—a mix of cold starlight and dangerous grace—filling his senses. She placed her free hand over his heart, her fingers tracing the hard muscle beneath his tunic.
"Is that so?" she whispered, her voice a seductive caress. "Is the Great Dragon King looking for his lost memories... or is he looking for me?"
GASP.
Metis's breath hitched. Beneath her touch, a small, hidden artifact against his chest—the [Hourglass of Souls]—began to vibrate violently. It was a physical anchor, a "cheat" he had carved into his own flesh to force his mind to hold onto a single second of reality against the Law of Oblivion.
The pain was agonizing. It felt like his soul was being shredded by a thousand tiny blades.
He lunged forward, his hand snapping around her throat, pinning her against the balcony railing. His dragon pupils flared with a mix of agony and obsession.
"There is a scent on you," he rasped, his voice trembling with the effort to stay sane. "A residual warmth that I... I am not supposed to forget. Tell me your name, woman, before I tear it out of your soul!"
Ceres looked up at him, her expression remaining annoyingly, beautifully calm. She didn't struggle against his chokehold. Instead, she reached up and gently, almost mockingly, kissed the tip of his claw-like finger.
"I am the catastrophe you are about to forget again, Metis," she smiled, her eyes dancing with golden light.
Before he could react, a flash of Imperial gold light enveloped her. Using the Administrator privileges she had just stolen, she triggered a short-range teleportation.
Ceres vanished into thin air, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume and the searing, unbridgeable ache in Metis's chest.
Metis fell to one knee, clutching his head as the Law of Oblivion washed over him like a tide, trying to erase the last sixty seconds.
He dug his claws into the stone floor, fighting the emptiness.
"Ceres..." he croaked, the name tasting like ash and starlight on his tongue. "I will... find you."